


Perigee

by Hyperion327



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Twilight Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Mild Gore, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Yep we're doing this kids, buckle in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27172741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperion327/pseuds/Hyperion327
Summary: In the dream, Stiles keeps standing there as Derek runs towards him, his face wearing that earnest, welcoming grin it did on their second meeting, but no matter how much he runs towards him, he remains the same distance away, always beckoning him forward, but never coming any closer.Plagued by a family tragedy, the Hales move across the country to Beacon Hills, in need of an escape from the haunting they feel in their native New York. There, Derek, defined by his status as the middle child in the house, meets Stiles Stilinski, a mysterious presence who seems to have an unending hatred for him, despite having never spoken a word to him. When they reach an understanding, Derek begins to see that there is much more to Stiles than he could have ever imagined, but just as everything seems to be falling into place, it all threatens to be ripped away from him, with far-reaching consequences for everyone involved.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	1. Nadir

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN GUESS WHO BINGED THE TWILIGHT SAGA MOTHERFUCKERS!!!! Yeah, I did. I may have done a parody of _Twilight,_ but this time, I wanted to do a much more serious and direct adaptation, with the little twist, because honestly, it's all so much more fun when you're playing outside of the usual roles. Also leaving out the racism because smeyer has some issues on that. Enjoy part one of two of _Perigee,_ a retelling of _Twilight._

_There are nights when the wolves are silent, and only the moon howls._ _  
_ -George Carlin

**Preface**

Even now, staring into the feral eyes before him, Derek can’t summon it within himself to regret the long chain of events that brought him to Beacon Hills. _It’s good,_ he reasons, _that it’s me and not him. Better this way._

With long claws and longer fangs, the alpha stalks forward, sure in his victory. 

_I’m sorry, Stiles._

**+**

They don’t talk about it. About the accident, or the gaping hole in their family, or Peter lying in a coma he’s likely to never wake up from, his wife and son in their graves. They don’t talk about Ritsa lying on the couch for a month after burying her husband, or the way she would quietly ask herself, _“Why did you have to ride with them, Mark?”,_ as if she could conjure answers from his ghost, or how it took two weeks before her daughter Kita would utter a word, temporarily muted by the horror of it all.

The Hales don’t talk about a lot of things, but they do talk about the fact that Lake George is just too haunted for them to stay, but only once, when his mother and father sit Derek down and explain that they’ve found a place out in California, clear across the continent. It’s big enough for all of them together, seven bedrooms in total on a vast acreage in the forest. They make Beacon Hills sound like a charming little place, nestled in the rural core of the San Francisco peninsula, an hour’s drive from the coast and two from the city, but Derek has no interest in it.

No one wants to move across the country in the middle of their junior year, and he’s no exception. Laura, in comparison, is fury incarnate about the whole thing, since it’s her senior year, and she’s being forced to leave behind a bevy of friends she’s known since kindergarten and a boyfriend of two years, only to be forced to graduate with a pack of strangers. Cora, on the other hand, is ambivalent, which is unusual to say the least, considering she’s always the most vocal about her displeasure about _anything._

Now, however, the deal is done, and Derek gazes up at the mansion, because that’s what the thing is, there’s no other word for it, that his parents have bought. The front porch spans the entire width of the building, with fine latticework concealing the empty space beneath, and a painted white railing and columns holding up the portico roof. The siding is old, made of genuine wood and still managing to hold onto its white finish. The slate roof is black, and accents of brick decorate, including two massive chimneys rising from both sides of the house. 

Sighing, he steps into the house, where the foyer is still filled with boxes as the seven of them begin the process of turning this collection of rooms into something that resembles a home. Grabbing the box that is scrawled with _DEREK’S CLOTHES_ in his mother’s elegant hand, Derek makes his way up the stairs and into the last bedroom at the end of the hallway. His bed is already there, as is the dresser, desk, and all the other major furniture, but the Prussian blue walls are bare, and neither his flatscreen, nor his Playstation and laptop, have made their way up yet.

After two hours of setup, his father calls him downstairs as he comes home with armfuls of Chinese takeout, and the Hales sit down for their first meal as a family since moving across the United States. 

“So, how’s everyone feeling about their rooms?” His mother asks, trying to lift the exhausted mood that permeates the half-complete dining room. 

Laura scowls, but keeps her tone civil as she answers. “Fine. The light is really nice in there right now.” 

“Cora?” Talia queries, and the youngest of her children shrugs. 

“It’s nice.” She answers, unusually taciturn. 

Evan cuts in, wisely sensing that interrogating everyone about their rooms isn’t going to go anywhere. “Are you kids ready for school tomorrow?” 

The four children all answer in the affirmative, with questions about their schedules and expectations managing to keep them sufficiently talkative that the coolness in the air dissipates, and for a few minutes, things start to feel almost normal again. 

**+**

Beacon Hills High School is radically different from Lake George Junior/Senior High. It’s a campus with an open design that the mild California weather permits, compared to the much more internalized, single building of Derek’s alma mater. The student body seems to be the same size, though their attitude is also clearly much different. The kids in Lake George were all very much of the New England rich kid set, which made itself known in such charming ways as the healthy supply of sports cars in the school parking lot, and the inevitable news that a member of the student body had been swept away to a rehab program for a cocaine addiction at least once every quarter. 

Beacon Hills, for its proximity to the coast and San Francisco, is much more middle class, and the kids don’t seem much like the type to be helplessly addicted to designer drugs or have other rich people problems. Laura has agreed to drive the three of them together for the time being, since Derek does not yet have a car and Cora can’t drive. The three Hale children walk together towards the main office to check in for their first day, and upon coming in, Derek takes note of the receptionist, an older woman dressed quite casually, who smiles when she notices them come in. 

“You must be the new students, right? The Hales?” She asks. 

Laura nods. “That’s us. We were told we need to check in here before we go to our classes?” 

“Yes, well, we like to make sure you have everything you need. I have here for each of you a copy of your schedule and a map of the campus. It’s very easy to navigate, but don’t hesitate to ask anyone if you get lost, we’re all very friendly here.” The receptionist says, passing them each their papers and bidding them all good luck on their first day.

They split up, each bound for their own respective homerooms, and it’s on the way there that a girl approaches him. She wears her dark hair in an intricate braid, and the grey cable knit cardigan that extends to her knees looks quite cozy, if rather out of place for a day already in the mid-fifties with only the promise of growing warmer. 

“Newby?” She asks lightly, extending a hand. 

“I have the new kid look on my face, don’t I?” Derek asks, taking hers and shaking. “I’m Derek Hale.” 

“Paige Krasikeva, it’s a pleasure.” 

He falls into an easy stride next to her, as she seems to be headed his way. “So, uh, where’s your first class?” 

“Trig, with Lloyd. You?” 

Derek peers down at his schedule. “Econ, I have… Finstock. Is that near you?” 

She smiles ruefully. “Oh, he’s… interesting. What period is your lunch?” 

“Fifth.” 

“Oh, good,” Paige smiles more genuinely now, “I’ll save you a seat at my table!” 

They reach the end of the hallway where Derek’s classroom is, and part ways. True to Paige’s word, Coach Finstock is quite _interesting,_ if you count half mad and wildly inappropriate as interesting. The next four periods go in a more or less similar manner, albeit without any more particularly odd teachers, until Derek finally reaches lunch. He curses his luck that Cora and Laura both ended up together in seventh period lunch, until he remembers Paige and her promise to save him a seat. 

Most of the tables in the cafeteria are circular, and Derek spots Paige sitting with a handful of others at one of them. There’s an massive but intelligent-looking guy with dark skin and an arm slung around the shoulders of a petite girl with bouncy blonde curls and cherry red lipstick, as well as a guy whose undeniably handsome features can only be described as _sharp,_ another kid who is obviously a freshman making heart eyes at Pointy, and a third guy, pale and looking like he spooks really easily. 

As soon as she spots him, Paige’s features light up, before she begins to wave him over. “Derek!” She calls, “This is the new kid I was telling you guys about.”

He comes over, sitting down on one of the last two available seats. “Hey, guys, I’m, uh… Derek Hale.” He says, rather awkwardly, raising a hand in a tiny wave as he does. 

Paige quickly takes over, introducing her cohorts. “This is Erica and Boyd,” _Blondie and Broad As A Barn,_ “and Theo, Liam, and Nolan.” _Pointy, Puppy Love, and Anxious,_ Derek catalogues in his brain. 

“Good to meet you all.” He says, before looking to the lunch lines, which seems to be thinning up. “Anyone going to grab food?” 

Liam and Paige both indicate that they’re doing so, and the three of them make their way to the line serving chicken patties and fries, before, almost inexplicably, there’s a shift in the air, and _they_ walk in. 

There are five of them, all of them stunningly beautiful in their own ways, made of two pairs and a single odd man out. The first couple is a study in opposites, with two guys who seem almost yin and yang. The taller of the two is pale in extremis, with a razor sharp jawline, a neatly styled crop of ashy curls, and piercing grey eyes. His shorter companion, presumably his boyfriend, has much softer features, warm skin and warmer eyes, and wears his black hair in an effortless flop even longer than Derek’s own.

The second couple seems to radiate dominion in only the way the king and queen of the school can. The guy is practically an Adonis, complete with the perpetually cocky set of his brows and smirk, while his girlfriend’s red hair falls in waves to her shoulders and the default expression on her face is one that can only be called _‘fuck off’_ in its hostility, made only more intense by a pair of witchy green eyes.

The last guy, however, stands out even from his own crowd. He’s pale, but with a healthy glow underneath, and skin that’s smattered with moles. His eyes remind Derek of the whiskey that Peter used to drink before the… well, _before._ His skewed, chocolate brown hair is spiked up in a way that says it’s either intentional, or he fell asleep with product in last night, and his build is lean, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and a tight sweater and even tighter jeans emphasizing his form. 

“Who are they?” Derek asks, pointing to the new arrivals as they make their way over to a table that’s set quite a bit aside from the others. Though there are still open chairs at their spot, no one makes a move to go near them. 

Paige lets out a wry chuckle. “I see you’ve noticed the demigods of Beacon High. The boyfriend and girlfriend, the ones who look like a couple of John Hughes ripoffs? That’s Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin. Prom king and queen, captain of the lacrosse team, all that crap. About as pleasant as they look. The three guys are Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey, and Stiles Stilinski. Scott and Stiles are step-brothers, and Stiles’ dad is the town sheriff, while Scott’s mom is some kinda hotshot doctor. The Stilinskis adopted Isaac after his dad died under… questionable circumstances, and he and Scott are a thing, make no mistake.”

“It’s weird,” Liam mumbles, “Isn’t that like incest?” 

“They’re not actually related, and besides, I’m pretty sure they were together before then.” She retorts.

Derek studies the one on his own, Stiles. “What about Stiles? What’s his deal?” 

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, sweetheart,” She says, smiling knowingly at him, “He’s untouchable, doesn’t like any of the girls, or boys, for that matter. He’s probably gonna be the valedictorian, maybe President someday. I don’t know, he doesn’t say much, just tops out at every test and assignment they throw at him.” 

After that, they get their food, and lunch actually isn’t that bad, and his assessment of each of the others at the table turns out to be pretty spot-on. Erica and Boyd are pretty wrapped up in one another, but perfectly nice, even if Erica seems to flirt as easily as she breathes, while Boyd just smiles with the absolute confidence of a man who knows his girlfriend has eyes only for him. Theo is sharp of tongue and of features, and Liam seems to hang off of his every word, while Nolan doesn’t say much, and when he does, it’s soft, but usually pretty clever. Paige, for her part, goes out of the way to make him feel welcome, and Derek is quite appreciative.

Immediately after lunch is Derek’s AP Biology class, and he’s informed that Mrs. Finch is quite a hardass, which poses no problem for him, since it means she won’t adjust her lesson plan on account of a new student being in the class. He might actually _learn something_ today. As he walks into the classroom, he sees that all of the black-topped lab tables are full but one, and the only open seat is next to Stiles Stilinski. 

As soon as Stiles looks up at him, there’s a brief moment where his eyes meet Derek’s, before they suddenly go as wide as the moon, and then his entire body tenses, those golden eyes going narrow in plain hostility as he deliberately leans away from Derek, drawing one hand up to cover the lower half of his face. 

Confused, Derek takes the seat next to him, and for the next forty minutes, Stiles sits as far away as is humanly possible, his face averted like there’s a bad smell, and when he learns down to smell himself, catching only the faint combination of his cologne with laundry detergent, which certainly couldn’t be _that_ offensive an odor. 

As soon as the bell rings, Stiles is on his feet and out the door, and Derek is left behind, utterly bewildered. 

**+**

“There has to be something, _anything.”_ The voice is a smokey tenor that somehow seems perfectly matched to its owner, one Stiles Stilinski, who leans over the counter with a grip as tight as a vice on its edge. Derek pauses in the doorway, watching the exchange with wary eyes.

The receptionist, Mrs. Lowe, shakes her head apologetically. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. All of Mrs. Finch’s other AP Bio slots are full up.” 

His entire body tenses up, as if he’s sensed Derek’s presence, and his face flashes into a terrifying mask of rage that’s here and gone so quickly, he wonders if he truly saw it on the other boy’s face. 

“I understand. Thank you, Mrs. Lowe.” He says clippedly, before again departing without so much as an acknowledgement of Derek’s existence. 

**+**

The nice thing about Derek’s family is that they don’t hover. With his parents already working and Ritsa driving to pick up her daughter from the middle school in Ben Lomond, the three Hale children are alone when they get back to the house. They spend a few minutes in the kitchen together before scattering each to their respective rooms. 

He sits down at his desk, working away at his AP Bio assignment and trying not to focus on the apparent repulsion that Stiles has to him, and powers through the assignment he’d already done back in New York, drawing up the answers from memory rather than any real exercise in thought. After that, Derek jumps into his trig homework, finishing up with enough time to log some online time until his father’s voice is calling the house to dinner.

“How was everyone’s first day?” Aunt Ritsa asks as they all sit down, distributing plates and silverware to one another. 

Her daughter gives a half-hearted shrug. “Fine, nothing really interesting happened.” Kita responds. 

“I made a few friends.” Cora answers, scooping herself a helping of mashed potatoes from the bowl. “They seem like nice kids.” 

Laura doesn’t answer beyond a non-committal noise, clearly still not pleased about the entire situation, and Derek realizes it’s his turn to share. “It was good…” He trails, uncertain as to whether or not he should say anything about his extremely odd encounters with the Sheriff’s son. “I met a girl named Paige who seems to have decided to adopt me with her friend group.”

Dinner goes on, and Derek makes the resolution that tomorrow, he’s going to hunt down Stiles, and demand to know what his problem is. 

**+**

Despite the plans he’d laid, Derek does not get the chance to confront him, because when Stiles’ little friend group marches into the cafeteria like they’re royalty arriving at court, he is not among them, nor does he show up at any point throughout the meal. At one point, Erica looks to him, waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Hey, Earth to Hale, what’s got you looking like someone just farted in your face?” She asks, snickering. 

“Stiles Stilinski.” He answers. “He acted like… I dunno, like a chode yesterday in bio, and I’d like an explanation, but apparently he’s not here.” 

The entire group shrugs, and Nolan speaks up in his quiet voice. “That whole group acts weird, I’d just leave them alone, honestly. Whatever his beef is with you, I’d just let it go.” 

“Maybe…” 

That’s how it seems to go for the next few days, as Stiles is still a no-show. Derek attempts to push the incident from his mind, but cannot bring himself to. It nags at his head, like an itch that cannot be scratched, and then, on Friday, when it’s particularly brisk and Derek can almost feel the snow of back home under his boots if he really concentrates on the memory, but all the others are whining about the cold, he’s suddenly there, sitting at the black lab table in Mrs. Finch’s AP Biology classroom like it’s the most natural place in the world for him to be. 

Stiles is dressed in a snug, black button-up that’s pulled back to reveal the creamy skin of his forearms and a pair of snug, ash grey jeans, and his hair as untameable as ever, but it’s the expression on his face that has caught Derek so off-guard. It’s… _welcoming._ His golden eyes are earnest, his lips curled up just ever so slightly, and he looks like a goddamned cherub, it’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. Derek’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, but he powers through and takes his seat. 

“Hey,” That slightly gravelly voice says, “I didn’t get a chance to say hi last week, I’m Stiles Stilinski, you’re Derek, right?” 

“Yeah… That’s me.” He says, unsure, as if the last two times they encountered one another, Stiles hadn’t acted like he was a leper. “Good to meet you.”

Stiles nods, going to answer, but Mrs. Finch’s voice breaks out. “Alright, class, we’re halfway through the Dirty Dozen! Welcome to lab number six, we’re onto molecular biology. On your desks you will find our model membranes, as well as solutions of starch, iodine, and glucose. Please open your lab manuals and start by observing the movement of water through the two membranes.”

True to the rumors, Stiles breezes through the lab, and Derek, who did this exact same exercise back in New York, is happy to be able to keep up, which certainly catches the eye of their teacher. “Mr. Stilinski, maybe Mr. Hale could try some of the lab?” She asks censoriously when she sees they’re the first ones done. 

“Derek did plenty, he identified the movement of the iodine _and_ the glucose through both membranes correctly.” Stiles answers with a winning smile that skirts the edges of smugness. 

“Hmm,” She replies, skimming their data sheet, “Well, it’s a good thing you two are partners, then.” 

Once she’s gone, he turns back to Derek, his golden eyes appraising. “So, Derek, what brings you to Beacon Hills?” 

“Well, my family thought we needed a fresh start.” He answers, already replying the rote answer that is designed to technically be honest without him needing to elaborate on the exact circumstances of their arrival. “There was a lot going on back in New York, and there was a chance to move out, so they took it, and me with them.” 

“That sounds like you weren’t exactly willing to come.” Stiles replies. “Who leaves New York for this podunk, anyway?” 

Derek shakes his head. “No, we were from Upstate. Lake George is actually smaller than Beacon Hills, I think. At least physically, I don’t know the exact numbers.” 

“Fair enough,” He concedes, “Still, at least the weather is warmer.” 

“Actually, I kinda miss the snow and the cold. Yeah, it’s inconvenient, and it gets _everywhere,_ but…” He trails, not quite able to voice the feeling. 

The other boy manages to get close enough, though. “But it’s home.” 

He nods. “Yeah, it’s home.” 

They don’t get any further before Mrs. Finch is calling the class to order to go over the lab, and Derek is grateful for the relief from the probing questions and indiscernible expressions of his lab partner. When the bell rings, Stiles stands up, and gives Derek a crooked grin. “Well, it was nice talking to you. Guess I’ll see you later?” 

“Guess so.” Derek replies.

As relieved as he is to be free of the intense discussion, some fragment of him is already excited to see Stiles tomorrow.

**+**

The next morning is even colder than the one before, bringing with it actual frost, which is a definite rarity in this part of California. All of the Hales, for their part, seem to delight in stepping outside, where it is hovering only a degree or two above freezing, and taking deep breaths of the brisk air. 

“Feels like home.” Laura sighs, content.

“This _is_ home, darling.” Their father reminds her, and receives a stormy glare for his trouble. 

In the parking lot at school, students delight on running and sliding across the thin patches of ice that have formed here and there, while teachers and aides frantically call for them to be careful. While Laura and Cora make their way to their homerooms, Derek hangs back with Erica and Nolan, talking animatedly about an assignment for their history class and watching their cohorts make fools of themselves on the ice. 

Just as they part ways, Derek notices Stiles walking not too far from him, and raises a hand in greeting, which is returned, along with another crooked smile. Then, from seemingly nowhere, a van that had been moving along the parking lot at an already too fast pace suddenly catches itself on a particularly large ice patch, and begins to fishtail, directly towards Derek. 

He stands, utterly frozen as the huge black vehicle careens towards him, only for a body to collide with him, while a familiar gruff voice cries out _“No!”,_ and then Derek is sprawled on the cold blacktop, knocking his head against it so hard that he sees stars, while the weight of the body on top of him is solid and uncomfortable and the crunching sound of metal on metal and glass tinkering against the ground mixes like a symphony, now at least ten feet from where he was standing a second earlier. 

_“… Ow.”_ He winces, opening his eyes as he registered the shocked cries of his classmates. It’s Stiles that’s above him, his features painted with panic. 

“Are you alright?!” He frantically demands. “Derek, are you hurt?!” 

Derek swallows, and that’s when he processes that the eyes of the boy above him are not normal. They may already be closer to golden than chocolate in natural light, but this isn’t natural. Stiles’ eyes burn the most dangerous shade of acid yellow that he’s ever seen. Tentatively trying to sit up, he’s held in place with just a single hand as Stiles shakes his head. 

“No, don’t move, you could be hurt.” 

“Y-your… your eyes, Stiles.” He says, but just as soon as he says something, there’s the briefest flash of horror across the face of the man on top of him before they stop glowing and go back to their whiskey color. 

His features then morph into concern. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard, Der?” He asks. 

“I didn’t.” Derek answers. “Your eyes were glowing”

 _“Check on Derek and Stiles!”_ A voice screams, the two of them hidden from the view of the lot. _“Someone get Hayden out of the van!”_

He shakes his head. “They weren’t.” 

“Stiles.” 

“Derek, _please.”_

“Will you tell me later?” 

Stiles deliberates for a moment. “Fine.” He spits.

Just then, it seems like half the school arrives, all of them on the phone with 911, and someone is helping a bloodied Hayden Romero from her damaged vehicle. Not ten minutes later, Derek is being swept into an ambulance, while Stiles insists to the paramedics on driving himself to the hospital, using his stepmother as a card to get them to let him be. 

He ends up in a room with Hayden in the emergency care center, while Stiles walks in of his own free will and plops down in the chair nearby. Derek would love to press the issue of just what it is he saw when they were in the parking lot, but he knows that will get him nowhere while they’re in mixed company, so he just cocks an eyebrow and attempts to look pissed off. Judging by the smirk on Stiles’ face, it doesn’t work as well as he hoped it would. 

In strides then a beautiful woman, with richly tanned skin and shoulder length black curls. On her pristine white lab coat is printed the name _Melissa Stilinski, MD, FACP._ If the name weren’t already a dead giveaway, her resemblance to her son and that same… _glow_ that surrounds both him, Stiles, and their friends would tell Derek that this must be Stiles’ stepmother.

“I hear there was a bit of an accident.” She says in a soothing voice, gently running a set of powerful hands over Derek’s skull, feeling for bumps. He winces when she makes contact with where his head hit the blacktop, and she makes a sympathetic face. “That feels pretty nasty, but no bleeding, so that’s a plus. Look here,”

“He did seem to hit it pretty hard, Mel.” Stiles cuts in. 

“Shush, you.” Derek snipes, flapping a hand at him while he follows the doctor’s finger as she moves it in front of him while shining a pen light in his eyes. 

After a moment’s deliberation, she nods, and looks down at his chart. “Well, your vitals are fine, and I see no signs of a concussion, so I think you’ll be good to go just as soon as a guardian is here to pick you up, Derek.” Melissa concludes, before turning to speak to Hayden, who is in quite a worse state than he is. 

Derek thumbs open his phone, typing out a text to his mother, who is already on her way to pick him up. 

**DH: Doc cleared me, needs you to sign the discharge papers and we go home.**

**TH: Alrdy omw. U sure u r alright?**

**DH: Fine, mom.**

Sighing, he leans back in the gurney and begins to scroll through social media, until Melissa speaks to a nurse, and Hayden is being rolled away to have X-rays done, leaving Derek and Stiles alone in the room. He puts down his phone, and looks to the other teen. “Shut the door, we need to talk.” 

Stiles stands up with a sigh, and does as asked. “Yes?” He queries, sugar sweet and entirely disingenuous. 

“What was that in the lot?” 

“What was what?”

Derek scoffs. “Your _eyes._ And for that matter, how you got me ten feet out of the way of a van that was going to crush me. People can’t move people that far.” 

“Derek, the van wasn’t going to crush you, it would’ve side-swiped you at best. Are you sure you’re feeling alright? I can get my stepmom, see if she didn’t miss anything with your head.” 

“My head is _fine,_ goddammit. I know for a fact that Hayden’s van was coming directly at me, and you got me out of the way of it at the last second, and when you did, your eyes were glowing bright yellow.” He insists.

His face becomes petulant, his jaw working itself before jutting out slightly. “No one would believe you.” 

“I didn’t plan on telling, but I want to know just how it is you did it.” 

“Sorry, Der, but I gotta disappoint you on this one.” 

Now it’s Derek’s face that becomes marred by anger. “If you’re gonna be so pissed off about it, why even bother saving me?” He snarls. 

At once, Stiles suddenly stands up so quickly the plastic hospital chair he was sitting in tips over, and he storms out of the room, leaving Derek alone and stunned by the sudden outburst. Not long after, his mother is there, frantically looking him over and hugging him way too tight as she kisses the top of his head over and over, before finally releasing him and sighing in the absolute relief only a parent whose child was endangered could experience.

Luckily, no one makes him go back to school, and he spends the rest of the day assuring people he’s fine through a never-ending barrage of social media posts and text messages. Derek ends up on the living room couch next to Aunt Ritsa, who was even more frantic than his mother was at first. Understandable, considering the losses they’ve endured, and he’s happy to spend the day with her reassuring that he’s alright and that everything is fine. He goes through it again and again with his sisters, cousin, and finally his father. 

After dinner, he settles into his assignments that were brought home by Laura, and once finished with those, Derek drifts off to sleep. That night is the first that he dreams of Stiles Stilinski.

**+**

In the dream, Stiles keeps standing there as Derek runs towards him, his face wearing that earnest, welcoming grin it did on their second meeting, but no matter how much he runs towards him, he remains the same distance away, always beckoning him forward, but never coming any closer. 

Jolting awake from the dream, Derek takes a moment to take in the surroundings of his room, before groaning and wiping away the sheen of sweat from his face, and it takes quite a long time before he can drift back off again. Unfortunately, it’s the first of many dreams featuring the mysterious Stilinski. In the succeeding weeks, he struggles to convey that Stiles was the hero, pulling him just out of the way and nearly being crushed himself, and Derek keeps true to his word, never mentioning the ease with which Stiles hurled them both away from the van, nor his glowing eyes. 

They continue to cooperate with one another in AP Bio, breezing through the labs and nailing the tests, but their interactions are never more than that of lab partners. As the days go by, Stiles seems to carry a greater and greater tension, though he never treats Derek any differently, until, one day, rather abruptly, he’s suddenly himself again, with the same sunny disposition as the second day they met, albeit behind whatever wall he’s constructed between the two of them. 

One day, in their shared study hall, Derek and Paige go to the library and find an isolated corner, sitting down to chat more than work on anything. “I needed this, Finstock’s econ homework is a nightmare.” He gripes. 

“Oh, I know,” Paige agrees, “But I need to talk to you about something. So, uh, what do you think of Liam?” 

“Liam?”

She nods, suddenly blushing. “Maybe me asking him to the spring formal?” 

A spike of sympathy jumps through Derek as he realizes what it is that Paige _doesn’t_ realize. “Uh… wow, I really don’t know how to say this but, um, Paige, I think you might be the wrong type for Liam.” He answers delicately. “Frankly, the first thing I noticed about him is the fact that he looks at Theo like he hung the moon.” 

The young woman slumps onto the table, defeated. “Shit, I was hoping it was just me being paranoid.” 

He reaches out, patting her on the shoulder. “What about Nolan? He’s a sweet kid.” 

“He’s got eyes for that new guy Alec… Holloway, I think? He told me himself.” She mumbles into her arms. 

Oh, _well then._ “Matt Daehler?” 

“Gag, he’s a creep _and_ a douche.” 

“I’m out of people, then, unless you want a friend date from me?” Derek suggests. “I mean, I wasn’t really planning on going, and sorry to say that I don’t exactly bat for your team, but I’d be happy to take you.” 

“Oh, you _weren’t?”_ Paige suddenly sits up, a spark of humor flashing in her eyes. 

“No…” He replies, now confused.

She begins to chuckle. “I’d tell that to Hayden Romero, then. She’s been telling everyone you’re going together.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“I’d catch a word with her now and shut her hopes down, if I were you.” She says. 

He nods. “I will. So, are we going to the formal together?”

“I suppose I’ll have to offer you a pity date, just to keep your maidenhead from the clutches of that villainous Romero woman.” She laughs, doing her best Regency Era accent as she does. 

“Save me, Mr. Darcy.” He mutters, rolling his eyes. 

**+**

Derek does his best to let down Hayden gently, informing her that he’s appreciative of her efforts to make up for it, and trying to convey as subtly as possible that he isn’t interested in _any_ female company, as well as his promise to take Paige as friend to the formal, but he’s left with the distinct impression that Hayden is still hopeful about prom, which has him mentally cursing up a storm. 

He plops angrily into his lab chair in Mrs. Finch’s room, huffing as he gets out his binder for the class and thumbs through his homework. 

“Rough day?” Stiles asks, looking at him with more honesty in his expression than there has been in the last month since the accident and their confrontation at the hospital. 

“You’re talking to me now?” Derek replies, raising an eyebrow. 

The other teen shrugs. “You’re clearly in some kind of mood.”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks to Hayden freakin’ Romero.” 

“She’s always been a little slow on the update, it’s not her fault.”

“If she’s slow on the update, what does that make me?” He asks, leveling green eyes on him. 

Stiles tilts his head, looking for all the world like a confused puppy. “I don’t understand your meaning.” 

“First you save my life, then you act like you regret it, then you pretend it never happened, and here you are now, trying to gossip with me like we’re friends or something.” He retorts. “Did I miss a few key steps in our relationship, possibly because of a _head injury?”_ Derek can’t help but throw that little dig in at the end. 

“You think I regret saving your life?” He demands, now clearly offended and ignoring the rest of his outburst. Derek nods, and he continues to speak, now simmering with fury. “Then you don’t know anything.” 

“Alright, look, I’m sorry.” Derek says, biting his lip. “It’s just… you’re giving me whiplash here. One minute you’re ignoring my existence, the next you think we’re friends.” 

The other teen seems to debate with himself for a moment before speaking. “We shouldn’t be friends, Derek.” 

“Shouldn’t?” 

“No, we should not be friends.” 

Before he can query as to what that means, Mrs. Finch is there, and class must begin. All Derek is left with to mull over is that final declaration, and it tastes quite confusing, as well as surprisingly bitter. He hadn’t expected the spike of disappointment that ran through him at Stiles’ declaration, and that certainly adds a new dimension to whatever the Hell this is. 

**+**

A few days later, as Derek is sitting down at lunch, Stiles and his friends march in with their usual grand entrance, but this time, the object of his frustration and confusion breaks from his group and grabs a table by himself, before slipping away to the lunch line. A few minutes later, as he’s making conversation with Liam and Theo, Derek is interrupted by Paige. 

“Uh, Der?” She says, “Stiles Stilinski is _staring_ at you.” 

True to her word, Stiles is smiling sunnily at him as he brings a curly fry to his mouth, before crooking a finger at him in a come-hither motion. 

“Does he mean you?” Nolan asks, quietly shocked. 

Derek stands up, muttering to himself, _“He probably just needs to talk about our biology labs…”_ and making his way to where Stiles sits. As soon as he places himself in a chair, Stiles beams at him. 

“Why don’t you sit with me today?” He asks in that cavalier tone of his. 

“Sure…” He replies, definitely _unsure,_ “So, what’s up?”

Stiles shrugs, still just as sunny. “I figured if I’m going to Hell, I might as well do a thorough job of it.” 

“You realize that I have no clue what you’re on about, correct?”

“Oh, I’m banking on it.” With that, he leans back in his chair, taking a bite from the apple on his lunch tray, and he continues speaking. “I think Paige is about to spontaneously combust over there, dude.” 

Derek shrugs, unwilling to look back at the freakout that is doubtlessly taking place behind him. “Erica and Boyd will clean up the ashes before I get back.”

“But what if I don’t want to give you back?” He asks. 

In response, Derek’s mouth goes dry, and Stiles lets out a genuine laugh, a deep, throaty sound that has the other teen flushing. 

“You look like a deer in headlights. Don’t you sit next to me in AP Bio five days a week?” He taunts. 

He fumbles for an adequate response. “That’s… different _._ This is different, _public.”_

“You’re worried about what people will think.” It comes out as a statement, rather than a question. 

“I’m worried about what _your_ people will think,” Derek replies, pointing to where Isaac and Lydia are both leveling death glares at the two of them, “And about what people will think of you.” He admits, this time more quietly. 

He leans forward, speaking just as softly. “It’s high school, Derek, I’m not worried about any of that. I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, so I’m giving up on that. Whatever happens, happens.”

“You lost me again.” Derek deadpans. 

“I’m glad, I keep giving up just a little too much info around you.” 

“So, in layman’s terms, we’re friends now?” He asks, desperate for just a little bit of clarity. 

Stiles makes a grand show of acting like he’s thinking it over before his face splits into another breathtaking smile. “Friends it is.” He says, holding a hand, which Derek takes and shakes, surprised by the burning warmth of it. 

**+**

After that, Stiles makes a point to either stake his own table and call Derek over, or to join him and the others at theirs, but never brings Dereks to his own. They continue to work together in biology, and once, Stiles offers him a ride home, rather than having to wait up for Laura and Cora, both of whom have after school plans. 

He hadn’t known what to expect of Stiles’ vehicle, having never actually seen the Stilinskis arrive at school, but it certainly wasn’t _this._ The model-year new Jeep, electric blue and kitted out to the max, is arguably the most ostentatious thing in the lot. When they get to it, Stiles leans against the enormous frame and pats it proudly. 

“This,” He says with a cocky smirk, “Is Roscoe. He’s my baby.” 

“Your _‘baby’_ weighs eight thousand pounds, Stiles.” Derek remarks, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline. 

Stiles scowls at him. “Don’t make fun of my child. Now, hop in.” 

_“I’m gonna need climbing gear to get in this thing.”_ He mutters to himself, but manages to finagle his way up into the passenger seat, before scoffing in disbelief. “A fuckin’ off-roading harness?” He asks, looking at where Stiles is easily buckling himself into his. 

“What? I like to ride over some rough terrain.” He replies rather blithely. 

“Jesus, is this monstrosity even street legal?” 

The driver lets out a wicked little laugh at that. “God bless the great state of California, it is.” 

They take off from the lot after that, and the only phrase that can describe the way the Jeep moves through the town is _‘hauling ass’,_ because Stiles drives like a bat out of Hell and seems to relish every second of it. In record time, they’re peeling off of the main drag and onto the winding eastward path of Bear Creek Road, where Stiles manages to pull eighty-five and make every curve and turn as gentle as if he were going thirty. 

When Derek points out that the turn into the Preserve where the Hale house is located is coming up, Stiles slows down, before breaking into helpless snickers as he catches sight of the street sign. 

“Moonrise Road, really?” He asks, giggling like a madman. 

“What’s so funny about that? Yeah, my house is on Moonrise Road.” Derek replies, confused once again. 

Stiles shakes his head, collecting himself together. “Nothing, nothing, I swear. Now where’s your driveway?” 

When they arrive at the house, the Jeep comes to an easy stop in the driveway and he turns to speak to his ride. “Thanks for driving me home. Would you, uh… wanna come in for a minute? We could knock out that bio homework.” He offers, proud to avoid stammering or blushing. 

“You’re very welcome. I’d love to come in, but I got stuff at home I need to handle. Some other time, though?” 

Derek nods, hoping he doesn’t look too terribly crestfallen. “Some other time. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there with bells on.” 

**+**

The next morning, Erica and Paige corner Derek on the way to economics. “We’re heading down to Santa Cruz to go dress shopping for the formal, and since you’re Paige’s date, it’ll be a chance for you to pick out a suit that goes nicely with hers and doesn’t make you look like a grumpy asshole!” The blonde enthuses. 

“Oh, come on, Der, it’s not like you’ve got anything else going on Thursday night!” Paige adds. 

“I do have a life outside of being insulted by you two, you know.” He retorts, knowing full and well that he honestly doesn’t, and Erica immediately calls him out on it. 

“Bullshit. You said you live out in the old house on Moonrise Road?” She says, before keying in the address in her phone. “Hmm, it’s pretty far off of Nine, which kinda sucks, but it’s whatever. I’ll be there at five-thirty. Bring money.” 

True enough, Erica is ripping her way into the Hale residence’s driveway at 5:27 PM, laying on the horn and hollering for Derek to haul his ass outside, joined in by Paige’s hysterical laughter. Talia Hale gives her son a bemused look and a kiss on the forehead before shooing him out the door.

Although nowhere near as bad as Stiles, Erica still practically flies down Route Nine to Santa Cruz, and she makes the forty-five minute drive from the isolated position of Derek’s house to the mall in thirty. The only store that’s really adequate for a semi-formal dance is Macy’s, so they make their way there, idly chattering as they do.

“I don’t know why Liam doesn’t just ask him out already, it’s obvious to everyone and their _dog,”_ Erica gripes, “And even Boyd thinks Theo would go for it, and we all know that he’s no optimist.” 

Paige tilts her head in concession. “Still, he’s a freshman, and Theo’s a junior. That’ll at least get some funny looks from people.” 

“Half the juniors on the soccer team are dating freshmen.” Derek points out as he takes a rejected dress from Erica while she heads towards another on the rack, a sheer, knee-length number that flows in a tidal wave of sapphire and hugs her every curve on the way down. 

“Okay, but what about _Derek’s_ love life?” She asks, looking at Paige with mischief dancing in her green eyes. 

“What about it?” He asks, now decidedly wary.

The small brunette leans forward from where she’s sitting on a chair in the dressing area. “Two words, Hale: _Stiles. Stilinski.”_

He curses the blush that begins to rise on his cheeks, and he powers through. “We’re just friends.” He insists. 

“Sure, whatever you say, sweetcheeks.” Erica laughs. “I’ve never seen Stilinski pay attention to _anyone,_ and now he’s hanging out with you? I think he likes you, and that pretty little blush currently running down your neck is telling me you like him, too.”

“He’s a nice guy.” Derek mutters, before making a dead break for a new topic in the discussion. “What about this red one, Paige?” He asks, holding up a simple scarlet garment that runs to the floor. 

Her eyes light up with interest, and she makes grabby hands at the dress. “Ooh! Give it here, I wanna try it out!”

She comes out a few moments later, balancing in dangerously high heels that still don’t even bring her to five-six. After the girls make their selections, Erica going with the blue dress and Paige with the red one, they head for the checkout, talking of dinner plans afterwards, when Derek broaches the subject of another plan. 

“There’s a bookstore like a quarter mile from here that I wanted to check out, and it’s right near the restaurant. If you guys don’t mind, you can just drop me off there and head to the restaurant, and I’ll walk over and meet up? I shouldn’t be more than half an hour, and the website says the wait for a table is like twenty minutes.” He suggests. 

They’re both willing to come along to the bookstore, since he put up with all the searching for dresses, but he waves them off, saying that they should go ahead and get the table so that they don’t all have to wait as long to eat. True enough, the bookstore isn’t more than two blocks from the restaurant, and Erica and Paige both offer to stay with him one last time when they drop him off, but Derek insists they go ahead.

It’s a cozy little establishment, clearly family-run rather than a chain, and with a specialization in rare texts. As he browses through some of their more… _eclectic_ books, one in particular catches his eye. It’s an old thing, clearly previously owned, but still in seemingly excellent condition. On the cover is an embossed image of a group of pioneers with their covered wagons, pointing their weapons at another group, only this one is full of animalistic half men with blazing eyes, gnashing fangs, and claws hooked on their fingers. The title is _Bizarre Stories of the Trail – A Collection of Hauntings, Happenings, and Other Unknown Occurrences From the Settling of California._

Long-winded a title as it is, a cursory glance at the book suggests rather easy reading, and something about it just draws Derek to the little history, published all the way back in 1906. It’s the inside cover, however, that catches his eye. The image on the front is reprinted, this time in much better detail, showing a full moon hanging over the scene of violence. A caption underneath reads _’Drawing based on the words of Miles Norris, who claimed his caravan was attacked by a pack of Spaniard werewolves during the Gold Rush, c. 1851’_

He turns to the back of the book, finding an index and scrolling to the W section. Sure enough, the word _werewolf_ appears, with apparently an entire chapter dedicated to it. Turning to the chapter, he begins to read.

_After the Mexican-American War and the acquisition of California, settlers began to slowly drift into the new territories. Some settlers told stories of large, unconventional families living isolated from the old Spanish towns, making note of their habits of disappearing around the full moon. Others reported that they had been attacked by strange, hair-covered monsters with terrible features, claws, and glowing gold eyes._

_The most notable alleged werewolf incident was the murder of the Lewis family in Yuba City in 1867. The family had settled near the town during the Spanish era, but were American citizens. Conrad Lewis, the patriarch, was a prominent businessman. However, when several young women were found slain following a full moon in June, a witness claimed that he had seen Conrad’s youngest son, Adam, tearing them apart under the moonlight, but that he had appeared monstrous, with yellow eyes, and that he howled at the moon as he committed the horrors. Not long after, a mob formed, trapping the Lewises in their home and setting it ablaze. What followed was a period of deep suspicion of outsiders across the region, with some comparison to the infamous Salem Witch Trials._

At reading this, Derek feels a connection form in his head. _No,_ he thinks to himself, _There’s no way._

Resolving to do more research, if only to disprove the ridiculous theory, he tucks the book under his arm and heads away from the shelf. After grabbing another couple of books from a more contemporary genre, he makes his purchase and steps out into the chilled night air. Even in California, sunset comes early, though it’s finally starting to get warmer and the days are growing noticeably longer as March drifts by. 

As he walks towards the restaurant, he finds himself drifting down a less busy street, trying to avoid the evening traffic rush. He makes it without incident, until, just as he turns onto the last street before the busy main drag where the restaurant is located, there’s a few sudden footfalls, and then he’s knocked off his balance, slamming into the brick wall of a closed business. 

Blinking away stars, Derek whips his head around, and comes face-to-face with the cold, glinting silver of a switchblade that is suddenly pressed to his jugular. The man holding it is utterly nondescript, except for his green eyes that are crazed.

“Don’t be stupid,” He orders, his voice shaky, “Where’s your fuckin’ wallet?” 

Derek takes a shuddering breath, holding up his hands. “Front left pocket.” 

Just as the mugger goes to reach for it, there’s a sound, like paper being ripped too quickly, or maybe a large plastic bowl clattering to the ground, or, just perhaps, a growl. A pale, mole-spotted hand reaches out of the darkness behind Derek’s attacker, and before he can even react, it is wrapped around his own hand and there’s the most terrible crunching noise he’s ever heard. 

The switchblade falls to the ground with a clatter as the mugger’s fingers suddenly go in all manner of directions, and he drops to his knees, letting out a ragged, broken little cry of pain that belies an agony much too powerful to be vocalized just yet. Standing over him with the most violent, hateful expression that Derek has ever seen on a human face is Stiles. His breathing comes in heaving gasps as his eyes start to flicker again, before they begin to _blaze,_ burning like twin suns in the darkness.

He leans down into the guy’s face, and this time, there’s no mistaking the growl that comes from deep within his chest. _“Run.”_ He seethes, before throwing him to the ground. 

The mugger hits the ground on his broken hand, letting out a much louder cry, before he scrambles to get up and takes off sprinting, leaving the two of them alone, and Derek is frozen to the spot, still utterly overwhelmed by all that has happened. 

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Stiles asks, taking careful inventory of him, even running one burning hot hand along the column of his throat to make sure that he hadn’t been cut by the knife in any way.

“F-Fine.” Derek stutters, still barely able to move. “How are you here right now?” 

Stiles shuts his eyes tightly, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. When he opens them again, they no longer burn, but the other teen still can’t shake the image of him as an avenging angel appearing in the night. 

“Let’s get you someplace safe, and we’ll talk, okay?” 

He nods, pointing down the street towards the corner that leads to his destination, and Stiles puts a hand between his shoulders, guiding him along the way. As they walk, Derek tries to regulate his breathing, and is impressed that he actually manages to do so. By the time they’re rounding the corner to the main drag, he almost feels normal, and turns to his companion, offering him a small smile, which is returned. 

As they come up to the restaurant, Erica and Paige are waiting outside already, and sigh with visible relief when they catch sight of Derek and Stiles. 

“Thank _God!”_ Paige exclaims. “We called you, Derek, but you never answered!” 

As he tries to formulate a half-decent lie, Stiles luckily swoops in with his most charming smile. “You’re gonna have to blame me for that one, guys, sorry. We ran into each other and just got talking and, well, you know how these things go.” 

“Oh, of course,” Erica says, with a blush painting her cheeks and a wink in Derek’s direction, “I’m sorry but you were wrong about the wait for food, Derek. I guess it’s a slow night, cause we got in right away, and waited up, I swear, but we were _starving_ and-”

“N-No, no, it’s fine you guys, really.” He says, holding up a hand to stop her. 

“If you don’t mind, I think you should get something to eat, and I know I’m pretty hungry, too. You and I could sit down? I’ll be happy to give you a ride home.” Stiles adds. 

Paige smiles broadly. “That sounds like an _excellent_ idea. Erica, we have to be getting back, don’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah, we do! You guys have fun!” She says, suddenly catching on. 

Derek walks over, giving each of them a quick hug and promising to see them in the morning at school, before he and Stiles make their way into the restaurant. When the waitress leads them to a table in the center of the restaurant, Stiles suddenly fishes out a fifty from his wallet and points to a long row of unoccupied booths. 

“Could we get one of those?” He asks, sliding the bill into her hand. 

The waitress’ eyes widen at the sight of the bill, before she puts on her most gracious smile and guides them towards their preferred seats, handing each of them a menu. “Some drinks to start?”

“Two cokes, please.” He replies. 

“Coming right up.” 

After she returns with their drinks and a promise to come back in a few minutes after they’ve decided what to order, Derek looks at Stiles and asks the first question that pops into his head. 

“How did you know where to find me?” 

“I feel… very protective of you. When I heard Paige and Erica ask you to come with them here, I just needed to make sure that you were going to be fine. I meant to keep my distance, really, but I heard that asshole, and then I could hear your heart pounding and smell you, and you reeked like fear-”

He holds up his hand, cutting Stiles off. “Whoa, pardon me, but I think you just said that-”

“I could smell your fear, yes, and hear your heartbeat.” 

“Is that… is it everyone?” Derek asks. “You can hear and smell everyone?” 

He nods. “I can, yes.” 

“Wow, um, okay. How strong are your senses?” 

Stiles shrugs. “It depends. I can track your heartbeat and scent a lot better than a normal person’s, because you’re important to me, and that allows me to better focus on it versus, say, the waitress’. I can probably keep track of your heart within… five hundred feet in a crowded room. Double that if we were in a relatively quiet place.” 

Derek feels that traitorous heart take off as he processes the information. He’s _important_ to Stiles, so important that apparently he’s memorized his heartbeat and scent. “Okay. And that guy’s hand, what was that?” 

“Strength, that I can give you statistics on. I can bench about seventeen hundred pounds, and I once ripped a cast iron skillet in half.” He recites breezily. “Jackson’s the strongest out of us. He flipped a car with one hand.” 

His eyes bug at that. “A car. With one hand.” 

“Yep.” 

The waitress comes back, and they each place their order, and the conversation continues. Stiles explains that the eyes and the growling, it’s something he can almost always control, but that they come out with the strongest of emotions. Derek broaches the next topic, one that’s bugged him since the first time they met. 

“Why did you act the way you did on the first day of school?” He asks. “What did I do?” 

Stiles’ eyes become downcast at that, and he looks quite abashed. “I wondered when you were gonna ask about that. Derek, you didn’t _do_ anything, at least, not intentionally. The problem was your scent.” 

“My scent.” 

“I’ve smelled a lot of people. Everyone I’ve ever met, in fact, and plenty of them have smelled very nice, others pretty terrible, but I have never, in seventeen years, met a scent like yours. It was… the most appealing thing I’ve smelled. I acted that way because if I relaxed, or even looked at you for more than a second, I might have completely lost control.” He explains, clearly embarrassed. 

“What would that have been like, you losing control?” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know that.”

“You’d have killed me.” Derek says calmly. 

“Not necessarily. If you fought me, then maybe, on accident, but more likely I’d have… I’d have forced myself on you. Held you down and mated you.” 

_“‘Mated’,_ you make it sound so… animalistic.” 

“It would have been. An animal is exactly what I have the capacity to be, Derek. You need to understand that. I’m dangerous.” He insists. 

He shakes his head, reaching across to take Stiles’ hand. “I don’t think you are. I think you’re afraid of being dangerous to me, but I also think you’d never hurt me.” 

Stiles sighs, before cocking an ear towards the kitchen. “Our food is done. Look, can we table this for now? I’d like to have a nice meal with you before I have to give you back to your family, and you really need to have something to eat.” 

“Okay.” He consents, and true enough, their waitress appears carrying two plates, setting one down in front of them.

 **+**

After the meal, the boys walk a couple of blocks to where Stiles has parked his Jeep, and before long, they’re on the road back to Beacon Hills. Stiles drives with his usual affinity for speed, and a bluesy pop ballad plays gently from the radio as they sit in silence. Finally, Derek speaks. 

“You’re not human.” 

There’s a momentary beat, and then– “No.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I- I think I know what you are.” 

“Say it.” Stiles commands. 

“You’re a werewolf.” There it is, it’s out there.

He nods, just once, refusing to take his eyes from the road. “How did you figure it out?” 

Derek reaches down into the bag of his purchases, and pulls out the copy of _Bizarre Stories From the Trail,_ tapping on the old image embossed onto the cover. “This did.” 

“For a group that was easy enough to fool into forgetting us, humans sure have a long memory.” He snorts. 

“So it’s all true, then? The Lewis family, the settling of California?” 

“There’s some truth in there, as there is in all myths. The Lewises _were_ werewolves, and Adam Lewis did commit a slaughter when he was uncontrolled during a full moon.” Stiles answers. “The histories leave out the part where the leaders of the lynch mob were a group of hunters.” 

The other teen looks over at him. “Hunters? As in-”

“Werewolf hunters, yes. They’ve plagued us for centuries, nearly hunted us to extinction in the fifteen hundreds. The last remaining packs fled to the Americas when the French, English, and Spanish started colonizing not long after that.” He says. “The hunters eventually followed, only this time, _we_ outnumbered _them._ There was another war, and we made a peace agreement. The wolves would control their own, and when one of them slipped up, the hunters wouldn’t punish entire packs for it. They adopted the Hunters’ Code.” 

“So where do the Lewises come into play?” Derek asks, now curious. 

“The hunters who killed the Lewis pack broke the Code. They slaughtered an entire family for the crimes of one wolf. It almost caused a third war, but we settled up. Blood for blood, the entire family of hunters that commit the crime was wiped out, man, woman, and child.” 

He nods, taking in this new history, before a thought pops into his head. “What about other supernatural creatures? Are there vampires? Witches?” 

“Vampires, no, witches, no.” 

“… Bigfoot?” 

“Real.” 

Derek gasps, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face. “You’re shitting me!” 

“I am. In all seriousness, as far as any of us know, it’s just werewolves.” Stiles says, much to his disappointment. 

“So, all of you, you’re all werewolves? Your step-brother, your friends?” He queries. 

Stiles nods. “Yeah, all of us. My dad, Mel, Scott, and I are all born. Lydia and Isaac are bitten.” 

“What about Jackson?” 

“Jackson is something of a mystery for us,” He begins, “See, he came from the foster system, with no knowledge of his birth parents, but his file says they died violently. And see, with kids, both born _and_ bitten, it’s sometimes possible for the wolf to be completely dormant until as late as puberty. Jackson didn’t wolf out until he was eight.” 

“What about Isaac and Lydia?” 

“When she was nine, Lydia was sick, like, three months to live with a brain tumor sick. Her parents begged Melissa to save her, whatever it took, and there was just something that called her to action. The bite is a risky gamble in a healthy person, but in a sick or injured one, it’s a complete crapshoot, but when Dad bit her, it took, and she became part of the pack.” He answers.

“As for Isaac, well, it isn’t just physical sickness that can mean the bite is needed. A couple of years ago, it became clear to Scott and I that he was being abused, _bad._ We tried to get him out, but his dad pretty much tried to kill him, and since Isaac is Scott’s mate, well… you can put the pieces together. Thing was, after it all, Isaac had such godawful PTSD that he wasn’t going to be able to live a normal human life, so he got the bite.” Stiles concludes, still clearly feeling powerful emotions.

Derek swallows. “So the bite can heal you? Body and mind?” 

“It can, or it can kill you. The worse your injuries, the sicker your body, or the more gone your mind, the higher the chance that you’ll just end up dying.” 

They’re pulling into Beacon Hills by now, the first edges of the town flicking by outside of the window, and Derek adjusts himself in his seat, sighing deeply. “What happens to us now?” 

“Us?” 

“You’ve just told me all this stuff, put yourself at risk to someone you barely know. For all I know, your entire family could vanish tomorrow and I’d be left wondering if you were real at all.” 

Stiles shakes his head, slowing down the vehicle and pulling to the side. “Get out.” He instructs, unbuckling from the harness and hopping out of the Jeep. Derek does as instructed, and when he gets out, he takes a good look over the empty road, to the cloudless, starry sky where a waxing gibbous moon casts thin, pale light over the two of them. “You need to see me as I really am.” Stiles declares. 

His features begin to morph. His brow bones become pronounced and fold downward as the hair on them vanishes, while coarse, dark fur bursts along his jawline and down his arms. His nails become black, razor sharp claws, and his canines morph into fangs. His eyes, of course, burn like embers, and Derek feels his heart stop for a moment in his chest, his breath catching. 

“This is me. This is what I am.” Stiles says, slightly lisping around the newly-formed fangs in his mouth. 

Tentatively, Derek walks over, taking one of his burning hot hands in his own and holding it up, inspecting it, and the way that the claws glint in the pale moonlight. He links their fingers together, and takes a deep breath, looking into the feral eyes of the boy in front of him. 

“Beautiful. Different, but still beautiful, just like the rest of you.” Just like that, Stiles is shifting back, and his face is so vulnerable, so utterly open that Derek does the only thing he can possibly think of. 

He leans in and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a review, verbally abuse me for making you all relive your _Twilight_ phase, and yes, I am still working on both _Pilgrimage_ and _Healer's Winter,_ but it's fucking hard lately. Quarantine has taken my job from me again, and the election is only days away, so my stress levels are through the fucking roof. Without the worry of trying keep track of plotlines I have to come up with, writing is a lot easier. Also shout out to JGluum's [ Twilight: Revamped](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958998/chapters/29624328), which gives us an almost perfect copy of the Twilight Saga, only it's gay, so obviously, it's better. I consulted this so much for pacing and plot points it isn't even funny.


	2. Zenith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay, but everything going on took a ton out of me both mentally and emotionally. The good news is, I now have a regular job, and I'm hopefully getting my shit back together for like the fifth time this year, and with any luck it'll stay together. Here it is, my own part two of the evil Twilight fusion. Suggested listening is _Lead Me Back_ by San Holo, along with _In The Woods Somewhere_ by Hozier and _Koln_ by Brolin.

_Throw me to the wolves, and I will return leading the pack._

-Unknown, generally attributed to Seneca the Younger, Roman philosopher and stoic

**+**

The next morning, when Laura and Cora have made their way to their classes, Derek hangs back in the parking lot, hoping to catch Stiles ahead of lunch. Just as he’s preparing to head in, he appears from seemingly nowhere with a downright wolfish grin on his face, snaking his arm around Derek’s waist and setting them both walking. 

“In about ten seconds people are going to see us.” Derek says under his breath as they weave through the maze of vehicles towards his first period class. 

Stiles nods. “That’s the point. I want everyone and their brother to see me walking you to class with my arm around your waist. I want them to know that I am yours and you are _mine.”_

The possessive emphasis on the word _mine_ causes a thrill to run down Derek’s spine, and he decides that, fuck it, he wants to show off, too, and so he puts his arm around Stiles’ broad shoulders. Clearing the parking lot, it’s sure enough that absolutely everyone starts to stare as soon as they catch sight of the two of them. He looks over to see Nolan’s jaw drop before breaking into a proud smile, and he offers Derek a thumbs up. The most priceless reaction of all, however, is the look of complete shock on Hayden Romero’s face when she spots the two of them just as they reach Finstock’s econ classroom. 

“I’ll see you at lunch?” Stiles asks softly, toying with one of the strings of Derek’s hoodie. 

He nods, a little breathless as he answers. “I’ll be waiting with bells on.” 

For the entire day, people, most of whom he does not know at all, come up to Derek and frantically ask if it’s true about him and Stiles Stilinski. After about the sixth incident, he complains to Paige and Liam, both of whom start to act as wards in the hallways between classes, not that it deters the most determined of the curious mob.

“Jesus, is it _that_ big a deal?” He gripes to Theo during their English class. 

Theo nods, chewing on the end of his pen. “Yep. Stiles is famous for shutting down would-be suitors _hard._ And not just girls, either, he once shot down Danny Mahealani, so for him to show up all wrapped around you is very big news, believe me.” 

_Wonderful,_ He thinks to himself, _I’ve just become the most interesting thing in the world to these people._

When Stiles and his group march into the lunch room with the usual aplomb, Derek looks up just in time to see Lydia level a downright hateful glare at him, and the look Isaac gives him isn’t much better. Jackson, for his part, can’t be bothered to even pay attention to him, while Scott gives him a warm smile and waves his hand. 

Stiles comes up to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him that crooked, private little smile he seems to spare just for Derek. “I’ve been keeping an ear peeled all day, we’re all anyone can talk about.” He murmurs into Derek’s ear, just quiet enough for him to hear as they stand together in the lunch line. 

“Yeah, and they’ve all been asking me if it’s true because no one has the guts to approach _you_ to ask.” He replies dryly. 

The other teen shrugs. “I’ve spent a while cultivating my reputation, I can’t help it if it’s effective enough to keep the wolves at bay.” 

“Word choice.” Derek sing-songs, delighting in the way Stiles’ eyes sparkle with humor. 

“Fair enough. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry they’ve been tormenting you all day. I could rip the next one to ask you a new one, really make a display of it. That could rub some of my untouchability off on you, I bet.” 

He shakes his head. “No, you are not going to have a scene. I will deal with it, and just delight in the fact that I can spend my free time next to you.” He leans his head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth that radiates from him. Stiles tilts his head, pressing a kiss to his hair and taking in a deep breath of Derek’s scent. The human can feel as he shudders in reaction to it, and smiles. 

“I never asked,” Derek begins, “What do I smell like to you?” 

“Most people have three or four elements to their scent, makes each of them unique. To me, you smell like apples, and leather, and pine, with an undercurrent of woodsmoke.” He says. “It’s… intoxicating.” 

“You find me intoxicating?” He smirks. 

Stiles nods. “Very.”

**+**

That night, as he types away at an essay for his history class, Derek is startled by the sound of tapping against his window. Gasping in fright, he whips his head toward the sound, only to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes, and a pale hand pressed against the glass of the window. Turning on his phone’s flashlight, he shines it outside to find Stiles crouched on the shingled porch roof with a smirk on his face. 

“Jesus _Christ,_ Stiles, get in here before you’re seen!” He whisper-yells, opening up the window to let his wayward companion in. “How did you even get here?” 

Stiles shrugs. “Ran. Thought I’d finally see your place. Nice color, I dig the blue.” 

“Thank you. But don’t you live _way_ out?” He asks, now confused.

“Der, werewolf. I can run a Hell of a lot further than you.” He answers, trailing through the room and inspecting the knick-knacks, posters, and collection of books stacked on his desk and end tables. 

Derek swallows, acutely aware that his room is in less than pristine condition with its piles of unwashed laundry, the stack of cups on his desk that he’s yet to take down, and the now-empty plate of leftovers he’d been eating as he worked on his paper. Finally, Stiles turns to his unmade bed, and gestures. 

“May I have a seat?” 

“Be- Be my guest.” He stutters, internally cursing. “I need to finish up my paper, though.” 

He shrugs. “That’s fine, I’m happy just to be here with you.” 

“Feel free to put on a movie or anything. TV remote and the controller for the console are on the other table.” 

From behind him, Derek hears Stiles settle into his bed, but he makes no move towards the controller to play anything, instead fiddling with the small Bluetooth speaker on his other table, before a soft rock song that he’s pretty sure is older than both of them starts playing gently through the room.

Stiles speaks up. “You don’t mind the music?”

“No, it’s nice.” He manages to force out. 

The next fifteen minutes are spent with Derek acutely aware of Stiles’ eyes on the back of his head, and him desperately trying to power through his essay, the words that had poured easily now being pulled from his brain like teeth. Finally, he half-asses out a conclusion and promises himself he’ll polish it in the library tomorrow before he’s got to turn it in. 

Derek rises from his desk and Stiles, who’s made himself quite comfortable in the center of his double bed, looks up from his phone with that damnable crooked grin before he scooches over and pats the space next to him. Wordlessly, he slips into the spot and folds himself next to him, revelling in the blazing heat of his body and the woodsy, almost earthen scent he carries for himself. 

Stiles wraps an arm around him, resting it on his waist as the song that begins to play is a particularly romantic number. In a few seconds, the world becomes small and soft, with only the light of Derek’s desk lamp and the feeling of the two of them and the mattress beneath them mattering. Derek leans up, resting a hand on Stiles’ chest to balance himself as he kisses him ever so softly. 

The other boy is equally tender in the brushes of his lips against his, while his hands trailing blazing paths along the length of his spine, never traveling into any sort of danger zone but still setting Derek’s blood to boil. Here, in this quiet space, the two of them fall into one another, and Derek never wants it to end. He swings one of his legs over Stiles to straddle his waist, only for the wolf to use his enhanced strength to pull the both of them up like he weighs nothing, leaning against the headboard and holding him in his lap. 

The kiss rises in its passion, and Derek’s hands wander along the hard plains of Stiles’ form, heat radiating off of him even through the layers of his clothing. For his part, Stiles tangles his fingers through his hair, pulling them as close together as possible as their tongues twist together, the two of them exchanging air like they won’t survive without it. 

When the human lets his touch grow bolder, sliding up Stiles’ shirt and skirting up miles of burning hot skin over well-toned musculature, the werewolf lets out a surprised growl that sends shivers of delight down his spine, only for him to suddenly find his hands restrained by the other’s gentle but absolutely immobilizing grip, and Stiles tilts his head away, holding his eyes shut tightly and breathing in deeply through his mouth. 

“Stiles?” He asks, now concerned. 

“A minute, please. You kinda… it’s a lot, and I need…” He struggles to explain.

Taking the hint, Derek leans back, trying to climb off as Stiles releases his hands. He slides off of the bed and heads over to the window, opening it up to try and clear the room of his scent on a thought that some fresh air might help his boyfriend regain control.

“Thank you.” He forces out, before quickly maneuvering over to the open window and taking in deep gulps of the cool night air. 

“Stiles…” Derek trails uncertainly, “Did I do something wrong?” 

Clearly much more put together, the werewolf turns to him, emphatically shaking his head. “Of course not, Der. It’s just… it’s a little close to the moon, and you’re already a test of my control in broad daylight during a new moon. This is on _me,_ okay, not you.” 

He nods, understanding, and gently laying a hand on his arm. Stiles turns, smiling in a much more gentle, intimate sort of grin than he usually does, and he leans in to Derek’s touch, the two embracing chastely. He buries himself in the crux of Stiles’ neck, taking in the scent there and nosing against the pale expanse of skin. Instantly, Stiles stiffens. 

“Der, do you know…?”

He smiles against his neck, giggling softly. “I did some reading on the mating habits of wild wolves, I figured there’d be some kind of equivalent.” 

“So clever,” He croons, before tilting Derek’s head up to nose along the column of his throat, “And so beautiful.”

“Stay.” Derek sighs before he even thinks about it. “Stay the night with me.”

He bites his lip in deliberation for a moment, before nodding. 

Getting ready for bed isn’t that much of a difficulty, as Stiles borrows a pair of sweats from Derek, and they deftly sneak into the nearest bathroom to brush up and finish their business for the evening, and then sneak back into Derek’s room, making sure the door is locked. When the human goes to shut the window, Stiles stops him. 

“Might wanna leave that open. I hear werewolves run a little hot, dude.” He warns jokingly. 

Derek nods, leaving it open. “Good point.”

They settle underneath the comforter of Derek’s bed not long after that, with the human curling into his werewolf’s side, throwing a possessive arm over his chest and resting his head on Stiles’ breast, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. Stiles leans down, kissing him on his hairline. 

“Good night, Derek.”

“Mm, g’night, Stiles.” Derek murmurs, already drifting off. 

**+**

When his alarm wakes him up, Derek is alone in the bed. For a moment, it feels like all of last night was a dream, but his sheets distinctly smell of Stiles, and when he looks to the end table on the other side of the bed, there’s a note balanced upright with his name written on. Reaching over, he unfolds it to read.

_Der,_

_Couldn’t bear waking you up, but I had to go home to shower and get a change of clothes. I’ll see you before class._

_Love, Stiles_

That little sign off, that small usage of the word love, is enough to have Derek floating on air as he goes through his morning routine, from the shower all the way down to breakfast. Apparently, he’s in enough of a good mood that even his aunt has noticed, and Ritsa smiles softly at him as she pours herself a cup of coffee and bites into a strip of bacon. 

“You’re certainly happy today, Derek.” She remarks. “What’s the cause?” 

“Just… feeling optimistic?” He says, not quite ready to broach Stiles with his family. He’s already talked with Laura and Cora about wanting to keep that tidbit private until he can get around to a proper introduction for everyone. 

His aunt leans against the island, her gentle smile growing wider, more knowing. “That’s not an optimistic smile, kid. That’s the smile of someone who is completely besotted. What’s his name?” 

“… His name is Stiles.” 

Ritsa nods. “He must be something special. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it quiet until you’re ready to bring him around, I remember how it goes. I do, however, have some news I _can_ share. I’ve got a job interview.” 

Surprise floods Derek. Part of the reason that Ritsa and Kita had moved in was that his aunt had taken her husband’s death _hard,_ hard enough that work was no longer an option for her. The months spent on the couch had been a driving force behind them all moving to California, hoping that the change of scenery would be good for her, and it genuinely was. 

She had become a much livelier person in their new home, taking up gardening and tackling the bulk of the domestic work, ferrying of children to school and extracurriculars, and the grocery shopping. She was a lawyer by trade, and as far as Derek knew, she hadn’t applied to admission with the California State Bar. 

“With who?” He asks, now intrigued. 

“There’s a firm in town that has an opening. Most civil litigation stuff, but some criminal defense.” Ritsa answers. “Pay’s about what I had back home, but the hours _are_ better.” 

“That’s wonderful, Aunt Ritsa.” Derek says, going around the island to pull her into a tight hug.

She chuckles wryly. “Don’t congratulate me, yet, I still have to get the job.” 

Before he can respond, Laura appears from upstairs with her backpack slung over her shoulder. “Come on, Middle Child Syndrome, we gotta get going.” She says with her characteristic smirk. 

Since making plenty of friends and finding that she’s competitive for the rank of valedictorian, Laura has cooled down immensely, and news of her preliminary acceptance into a college back in New York, the same that her now-long distance boyfriend will be attending in the fall, has only helped to endear Beacon Hills to her. Likewise, Cora is finding she enjoys this new town of theirs, though her open attitude to coming in the first place certainly was a factor. 

Outside, it’s unseasonably warm for March, and the three of them voice their pleasure with the sun and heat as they make their way to Laura’s Camaro. The drive to school is marked by the blasting of loud pop music and the windows down as they speed down the winding road into Beacon Hills, and by the time they exit, they’re all in a bubbly sort of mood. 

Still floating from the morning’s note, Derek immediately makes his way over to Stiles, winding his arms around the wolf’s neck to kiss him soundly. “Good morning.” He says, smiling like a madman. 

“You’re in an _excellent_ mood, aren’t you?” Stiles asks, grinning just as widely. 

“You could say that.” 

Paige’s voice breaks through the bubble the two have around themselves. “Hale, stop macking on your boyfriend and get your ass to class!” She calls, snickering hysterically. 

Before they part, Stiles reaches out and stops Derek for a moment. “Hey, tomorrow, what do you say you come by the house and meet everyone?” He asks, just quiet enough for only him to hear.

“You sure about that? Isaac and Lydia already hate me.” He replies, looking over for the rest of Stiles’ pack. 

He shakes his head. “They don’t _hate_ you. They’re just… worried. Isaac is new to this life, and Lydia has always struggled with what we are. They see the way you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, and they worry for me. For you, as well.” 

“For _me?”_ Derek asks, now incredulous. 

“Yes,” The wolf nods, “We’re dangerous creatures, Der, you can never forget that, and with the moon coming up next week, well, there’s a reason I’m always gone around that time. I need to put enough distance between me and you so that I can’t hunt you down the way every part of me wants to.” 

That much takes Derek aback. He’s noticed that Stiles tends to vanish from school a day earlier than his friends when the full moon falls during the week, but he’d never realized, or even considered that he might have done so in order to get far enough away that even if he wanted to find Derek and take him in the animal way he’d once warned him about, he couldn’t. That little realization, that Stiles is so concerned for his safety that he literally spends the full moon hundreds of miles away, sets it all into place a bit more. He truly is a _wolf,_ and Derek is his prey, in more ways than one. 

“Okay.” He whispers, leaning in to press his lips against Stiles’ one last time. “We’ll go meet the family.” 

**+**

The next morning, Stiles pulls into the driveway, and it’s Derek’s aunt that first spots him. Ritsa calls upstairs to Derek, who practically flies down the stairs three at a time, dressed in what she knows is his nicest pair of jeans and a tight fitting sweater that’s a pale tan that brings out his brilliant hazel eyes. 

“Am I finally going to get to see what this Stiles looks like?” She asks with a taunting smirk on her face. 

The teenager looks genuinely torn for a moment, but finally, he nods. The two of them step out onto the porch, and Derek makes a show of waving his arms and calling out to Stiles, even if he probably heard the discussion they had in the foyer. The werewolf, for his part, good-naturedly climbs out of Roscoe and makes his way over to the two of them. He puts on his most charming smile, and holds out a hand to Ritsa.

“Stiles, this is my Aunt Ritsa. Aunt Ritsa, my boyfriend Stiles.” Derek says, allowing the two to shake hands. 

“It’s a pleasure.” She says, smiling warmly at him. “Nice to meet the reason Derek’s been in such a good mood lately.” 

He laughs with some chagrin, bowing his head to conceal the blush that’s painting his cheeks. “I’m glad to meet more of Derek’s family.” 

Ritsa nods approvingly, before hugging Derek from the side and playfully shoving him. “Go have fun doing… whatever it is you two are off to do. Call if you’re gonna be out late, Der.” She instructs, making her way back towards the house while the two boys head for the Jeep. 

“She’s nice.” Stiles says as they climb up Roscoe’s frankly ridiculous frame. 

“Ritsa’s okay, I guess.” He playfully replies. “No, but, she’s actually been really great. With everything that happened to get here, well, it’s good to see her joking again.” 

Not long ago, Derek had informed Stiles on the _real_ reason the Hales came to Beacon Hills. The car accident, the loss of three members of their family and the persistent vegitative state that Peter was stuck in in a long-term care facility in Albany, Ritsa’s diagnosis with complex bereavement syndrome, all of it. For his part, the wolf had been deeply empathetic of Derek’s pain, holding him close and whispering that he was so sorry over and over. 

Now, however, there’s a feeling of anxious excitement as they drive eastward, even deeper into the Preserve than the Hale house. The road becomes narrow and winding, with the forest closing in around them on all sides, until Stiles suddenly banks onto a driveway that Derek hadn’t even noticed. 

He didn’t think it was possible, but the trees have managed to get even _closer_ to the Jeep, while the road winds through the forest, leaving him unable to see more than a handful of feet in front, while Stiles cooly navigates the path seemingly on pure instinct. After what must be at least a mile of driveway, they emerge into a massive clearing dotted by enormous redwoods. 

In the center of the clearing is a sprawling, two story mansion that makes Derek’s home, which is impressive by any standard, look downright shoddy. The architecture is from a school of modern minimalism, asymmetric in its form and making liberal use of a dark concrete and massive windows that are complemented by bright wood panelling. There are countless balconies, all of them overflowing with plants, and as he peers inside, Derek can see the Stilinski pack as they move about, mostly concentrated in what looks to be the kitchen. 

Stiles sounds just a little proud as he speaks. “Well, this is home.” 

“It’s _beautiful.”_ He breathes, completely sincere. 

“It’s stupidly expensive, but like most packs, we’re old money, and Melissa is paid very well for her time at the hospital.” He replies, chuckling wryly. Inside, they make their way towards the kitchen where everyone is gathered together, and Derek gets his first look at the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, the alpha of the pack, and, more importantly, at Stiles’ father. 

Like the rest of his pack, the Sheriff’s skin has a natural sort of radiance to it, and he wears his sandy blonde hair short, with it just beginning to grey around the edges. His face is warm and inviting as he catches sight of Derek, his cool grey eyes standing out against his tanned skin that is marked by the beginnings of crows’ feet and smile lines. Dressed in a tight green sweater and a pair of khakis, he cuts a less intimidating figure than expected, but there’s a natural authority in the way that he walks as he approaches to shake the human’s hand, and his grip is just as burning hot as Stiles’.

“So, I finally meet the legendary Derek Hale.” He says with a grin. “You’re all anyone seems to talk about around here these days.” From behind him, Lydia scoffs as she works over a salad, and both he and Stiles spare her a warning glare. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Sheriff.” Derek replies formally. 

The alpha shakes his head. “No need to be so stiff, kid. This is the one place I’m _not_ the Sheriff. You can call me John.” 

“Gotcha.” 

Melissa rounds the corner from the island where she’s boiling pasta on a stovetop, forgoing a handshake to pull him into a tight hug. “You’ve shown up just in time, we were going to have lunch out on the deck since it’s so nice today.”

“It’s about time.” A husky voice breaks from behind, only for Scott to appear from the living room and come up to embrace Derek just as tightly as Melissa did, while Isaac trails behind him and gives Derek only a respectful nod. “Stiles has been ordering us to keep away for so long I was wondering when I was going to get to finally speak to you, dude!” He enthuses. 

He turns to his boyfriend, confused. “You asked them to stay away from me?” 

Stiles shrugs, looking rather unrepentant. “You wanted to keep me to yourself, didn’t you?” 

“Fair enough.” He concedes. 

They end up on a large balcony overlooking the sprawling backyard of the Stilinski house, seated around an enormous glass table. Derek is positioned between Stiles and Scott, and he finds that the conversation flows easily, even if Lydia is taciturn and clipped in her responses to almost everyone. As the meal winds down, John turns to Derek to speak. 

“So, was your first time eating with a pack of werewolves everything you expected, Derek?” He asks with an affable grin. 

The human chuckles. “It was enlightening, and excellent. Thank you for the food, really.” 

“It’s our pleasure. We’ve all been looking forward to formally meeting you, and we don’t really get visitors out here, so you’ve given us an excuse to go all out.” 

From across the table, Lydia grumbles something, only for Stiles to whip his head at her with a fierce glare. “Care to speak up so the human in the room can hear, Lyds?” He spits.

The redhead’s face puckers, but she looks up with defiance blazing in her eyes as she speaks loud enough for Derek to understand. “I said, I wonder _why_ we don’t get any visitors out here. I mean, it’s not like we’re a pack of mythical creatures or anything, are we?” 

“Lydia-” 

“No, John, I’m not going to hold my tongue. Derek should know that if this ends badly, we will _all_ be held responsible. The entire pack will be implicated if this ends badly.” She declares. “And a human life will have been wasted.” 

“Your concern, while admirable, is not necessary, young lady.” Melissa intercedes. “If you can’t hold your tongue, you’re welcome to excuse yourself.” 

It’s quite clear that Lydia has plenty more to say on the matter, but she doesn’t say a word for the remainder of the meal. Once they’re done, Derek volunteers to help pick up the meal, but he and Stiles are both shooed off, Melissa insisting that her stepson should show their guest around the house. 

Much to Derek’s amusement, a great deal of the house’s decor is devoted to sculptures and paintings depicting either wolves, the moon, or both. The age and styles vary from several ancient Greek hydriai showing men half-morphed into wolves to medieval engravings that depict frightened villagers fleeing massacres at the hands of hulking monsters, all of which he strongly suspects are priceless originals. 

“How about a little history lesson?” Stiles asks with a cavalier grin.

He raises an eyebrow. “History lesson?”

“Yep,” The wolf replies, popping the p, “The history of our pack.”

**+**

“I’m sorry, Melissa’s pack came here _when?!”_ Derek scoffs in disbelief. 

Stiles chuckles. “1496. The Delgado pack was part of the very first wave of colonists in Santo Domingo. Half the fucking colony was made up of werewolves, dude. The Inquisition was very serious about hunting anything supernatural. Or Jewish, for that matter.” 

“And when did your ancestors get here?” 

“We’re not too sure, but we have it down to somewhere between 1638 and 1655, since they were Polish wolves fleeing the Counter-Reformation and they settled in New Sweden, near Wilmington, Delaware. The Delgados made it to the mainland just before the settling of Texas, and the Stilinskis lived in Pennsylvania for a while. Both packs headed west with the Gold Rush.” 

They finish their wandering, reaching a closed door at the end of the upstairs hallway. Stiles leans over to open it, gesturing for Derek to enter. “And here is my room.” 

It’s a very different space than Derek’s, that’s for sure. The room’s entire west wall is nothing but glass, overlooking the rolling hills and forests that lead back to Beacon Hills. Meanwhile, the opposite wall is lined with bookshelves, which themselves are loaded with well-loved novels, framed photos of Stiles’ pack, as well as vinyl records, momentos, and small pieces of art, all framed around a large flatscreen that’s boosted by an impressive entertainment station.

The south wall, also made of glass, has a large, unmade bed with dusky blue sheets that have a pleasing geometric pattern on them. There’s a small, modern loveseat that has a pair of jeans thrown over one of the arms, a desk that’s cluttered with a desktop in screensaver mode, a few open books, and a stack of empty cups that teeters dangerously close to falling. It feels exceptionally homey, intimate but not cramped, and Derek takes in a deep breath, savoring Stiles’ natural woodsy scent that hangs in the air. 

“It’s really nice.” He says, gesturing to the bed and making to sit on its edge. “You mind?” 

Stiles tilts his head. “Go right ahead.” Not a moment later, he joins him there. 

“Your family, they’re all… really wonderful.” Derek says after a moment’s silence. 

The wolf chuckles wryly. “You can say it, Lydia was being a royal bitch. It’s true, and it doesn’t matter if she hears it.” The last part is clearly directed towards the outside of the room. 

“Don’t,” He replies, “She’s your pack. I get it, I really do. I represent a risk not just to you, but to myself and to your entire pack. She’s _worried_ about you, Stiles.” 

“She should worry more about herself, but fine.” He mutters darkly, before brightening. “Say, why don’t you stick around? We actually had plans to head into the woods for a little game of baseball later.” 

“Baseball? In the _woods?”_ He asks, now confused. 

Stiles waves his hand dismissively. “There’s a- a clearing, you’ll see why when we get playing.” 

“Okay,” Derek answers, “I’ll come play baseball with you guys.” 

**+**

One very bumpy Jeep ride later through a forest of California redwoods, Derek is deposited in a massive clearing that stretches halfway up the nearby mountainside, doubtlessly cleared by a wildfire years ago. The rest of the Stilinski pack is already there, with Jackson and Scott playfully wrestling over possession of a baseball bat while their mates look on with twin looks that convey just how unimpressed they are with their beloveds. 

“Derek,” John calls, “You’re gonna be our ump. Mel will catch, but you call. Stiles, Lydia’s pitching, you and Isaac are fielding. The boys and I are up first.” 

They break up, and Derek winds up crouching behind home plate next to Melissa. “You don’t play?” He asks. 

“Oh, I do. That’s the problem. My team always wins, so I’ve been kicked to the umpire.” She replies with a wink, before turning to address the field. “Alright, _batter up!”_

On the center mound, Lydia winds up her pitch, and hurls it so quickly that Derek can’t even see it before there’s a deafening crack of leather on metal as Scott slams it, though this time the human can see a streak of white soaring up the mountainside. 

“Holy _shit,”_ He breathes, “I see why you have to play out here.” 

Out in the field, Isaac takes off sprinting at an inhuman pace, tearing through the grass and seizing the ball, before hurling it back to Stiles in another streak of white against the mauve of the field in twilight. By the time fifteen minutes have passed, the score is quickly tallying up. Stiles, Derek learns, is by far and away the fastest of the pack. Jackson’s hits are thunderously loud and go hurtling halfway up the mountain, while Lydia’s throwing is precise and quick as a cobra strike. 

The game ends when Stiles manages to bat it quite literally out of the park on a stunning pop fly, allowing his team to clear the bases. In the aftermath, he rushes up to Derek, grinning like a madman and still keyed up from the excitement of the game. 

“What’d you think?” He asks. 

“Well,” Derek replies, “I think you should tone it down a little and then go play for the Giants up in San Francisco.” 

Stiles snickers. “Jeter’s a werewolf, you know? There’s plenty of athletes who happen to sprout fur and fangs under the moon.”

“Any others I’d know?” He asks, now intrigued. 

“There’s a _bunch_ in the NHL, and I’m about ninety percent sure that the Williams sisters are wolves.” 

Before the banter can go any further, in the distant field, Isaac stiffens, before turning to his alpha. Derek can see his lips move, but cannot hear, though Stiles can, if the way he immediately stiffens up is any indicator. Without warning, he’s immediately pressing his face into Derek’s neck and aggressively scent marking him, running his hands up and down his sides as the Stilinski pack all sprints to come together, each of the mated pairs seeking each other out instinctively. 

“What’s going on?!” The human demands, before Stiles pulls back and, for the first time, he sees real fear in those golden eyes. 

He cups Derek’s cheek and kisses him soundly, before dragging his nose along his cheekbone for good measure. “I need you to stay quiet and keep behind me, you understand? I will explain everything as soon as it’s safe. _Please,_ Der.” 

Derek nods, while Lydia marches over, planting herself next to Stiles and in front of Derek. “You know they’ll catch his scent, Stiles.” 

“Not if you keep standing there.” He bites back. 

“Why do you think I’m here?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Because the lighting’s nice, I don’t know.” 

Lydia lets out a little snarl. “I’m here to keep _your mate_ safe, asshole.” 

Stiles swallows, before nodding. “Thank you.” 

That’s when they appear, and a knot of dread forms in Derek’s stomach. 

**+**

The three people who stalk into the open clearing stand in stark contrast to the elegant gentility of the Stilinskis. They are barefoot, wearing ragged, dirty clothes and with leaves and twigs on their jackets and threaded in their untamed hair. The first of them is enormous, an older man who is balding and has clearly been living lean. Across from him is a dark-skinned woman, her eyes already burning gold and with claws out on her hands and toes. Both of their body language is deferential to the one in the middle, however.

He’s handsome in a very classical sense, a square jaw and symmetrical features, but his face is marred by three long curls of claw marks that run from his hairline all the way to his collarbones, one of which has left his right eye milky white and blinded. All three of them move in a way that’s more lupine than human, and if you had told Derek they were werewolves, he’d have believed you in an instant. They’re fundamentally _animal._

The new pack stops perhaps twenty or thirty feet away from the knot of the Stilinskis, and John steps forward. For the first time, Derek sees the difference between an alpha and their betas, because the Sheriff’s eyes don’t glow gold, they burn the most violent shade of crimson he has ever seen in his life. The interloping alpha’s one good eye does the same, while his blind one flickers a hazy sort of pink, sparking unevenly and constantly shifting.

“Deucalion, Kali, Ennis. I thought I told you to keep off my land.” John says, crossing his arms.

The other alpha speaks with a surprisingly posh British accent. “Beg pardon, John, but you know this is the quickest way from the coast from the Bay. We were just passing through, and we heard your little game going, and figured it’s only proper to acknowledge the alpha of the land.” 

_“Now_ you give a damn about pack protocol? How about when you tried to steal the land my pack has held for almost two hundred years?” He snarls.

“Tut, tut, Sheriff, it was just a little pack dispute. Besides, no reason to hold a grudge, seeing as you won, and caused my own pack to disband.” The statement comes out thoroughly embittered. “But I see we’ve added another pup to your litter of teenage werewolves. What happened with this one? Cancer? Hit by a bus?” 

“Derek is none of your business.” John seethes. “If you’re going to the coast, then get going, and I’ll politely ask that you keep off of my pack’s land in the future.” 

“So touchy.” The woman on Deucalion’s left purrs. “Why not let us join in on your little game?” 

The half-blind wolf turns to her with a fond smile on his face. “Now, love, let’s not rile them up, they’re already quite uncomfortable with us here. We’ll let you be in peace, Sheriff Stilinski.” The tension in the air climbs down a bit, and things appear solved until the two groups separate, preparing to go their own ways, and a sudden gust of wind carries through the air.

The reaction is instant. Deucalion’s eyes flash red and pink once again, and he and his pack round back with snarls and claws exposed. The Stilinskis all do the same, and Stiles pushes Derek even further behind him.

Deucalion’s face becomes a taunting smile. “My, my, John, a _human._ What would the Argents say to that?” 

“You don’t talk about him!” Stiles shouts.

John’s face, in contrast to the others’, is perfectly placid even with his flaming red eyes. “The boy is with us, and you needn’t concern yourself or the Argents with our business.” He declares with the sort of finality unseen outside of the best Hollywood dramas. 

The brutish-looking one called Ennis lays a hand on Deucalion’s shoulder. “It’s not worth it. We should just get going.” 

Seemingly unphased, the alpha suddenly straightens himself out of his crouch and nods. “We’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Ta ta, Stilinskis and company.” 

The visitors depart as fast as their feet will carry them, and none of the wolves around Derek even make a move until minutes after they’ve disappeared into the treeline. Then, at once, there’s a mad dash to clean up as everyone makes for their vehicles, while Stiles practically _hauls_ Derek back to the Jeep, frantically lifting him up into the seat and grabbing at the harness for him. 

“I- I… _goddammit, Stiles, I got it!”_ He barks, suddenly overwhelmed. The wolf backs off immediately, but only to whip around the front of the Jeep to clamber into the driver’s seat and turn the engine to life before they’re roaring off into the forest. Derek isn’t even fully buckled in before Stiles has them soaring over the rough terrain back towards the Stilinski house. “What the fuck was that?!” 

“Not all werewolves are like us, Der. Deucalion and his pack, they’re nomads, and worst of all, he’s the kind of wolf we’re all raised to fear. He didn’t become alpha because his alpha died or gave him the power, he became alpha by killing an alpha wolf.” Stiles explains. “A couple of years ago, his pack started getting big enough that they needed to settle down, so he challenged my father for this land, and Dad beat him in single combat.” 

“So, what, this is a grudge match?” He demands. 

The wolf nods. “Land challenges are settled in what we call conclave, where pretty much every pack for hundreds of miles gathers together. My father was the one who left Deucalion blinded and shamed. Most of his pack left him, and he’s been even more of an outcast amongst us since then.” 

Derek’s eyes goggle, he can’t imagine John hurting anyone, let alone as severely as the half-blind man so clearly once was. “What does any of this have to do with me?” 

“Don’t you get it, Derek? He’s too weak to even touch us, but a human? A fragile little flesh sack? He can do plenty of damage to you.” The sentence comes out like it’s making him sick to even discuss the possibility of harm coming to him. 

The reality comes crashing down on his head, and Derek’s blood turns to ice in his veins. “W-What about my family? Could he go after them?” 

“It’s unlikely. The more humans are involved, the greater the chance the Argents will take interest, and that’s not good for anyone.” 

“Who the _Hell_ are the Argents?” He asks, confused by the mixture of irritation and fear that colors everyone’s voice when they mention them. 

Stiles swallows. “They’re the primary hunting family on the west coast. We have a… tense relationship with them, to say the least. They’re based out of San Francisco.” 

He nods. “Why wouldn’t we go to them if they’re supposed to protect humans?” 

“First, they don’t protect people, they _avenge_ them, there’s a big difference. Second, the Argents especially don’t enjoy it when someone outside of the hunters knows the truth about us, and third, whenever they get involved, innocent people, human _and_ wolf, tend to die.” He explains. “Bringing the hunters into anything should always be a last resort.” 

Derek sighs, still deeply worried. “I need to draw him away from my family, still. Where can we go?” 

They pull into the driveway to the Stilinski house, before Stiles lets out a bellowing snarl and takes off sprinting, claws and fangs drawn for a fight. Derek runs behind, only to find his boyfriend being held back by John, while he roars furiously in the face of one of Deucalion’s betas, the big one named Ennis.

“I’m here to warn you!” He yells. “Deucalion is coming for the human!” 

Stiles stops fighting, but doesn’t shift back. “No shit,” He spits, “But why are you telling us? You stayed with him when we shamed him in front of every werewolf west of the Rockies.” 

Ennis nods. “I did, because he saved me, but this? It’s a suicide mission, one he will never give up on. Getting revenge on you is something that he’s been focused on every single day since he lost the challenge. I owe Deucalion my life, not my death, and the kid didn’t do anything, he doesn’t deserve what’s coming. So, I have to ask, do you know of any packs willing to accept a shamed wolf?” 

“Go east.” Melissa instructs. “I have a friend in Boston, Marin Morrell, she tends to collect misfits and outcasts.”

“Thank you, I will.” And with that, he’s gone. 

The Stilinski pack springs into action as soon as Ennis is out of the door. John begins barking orders, including to Jackson, who sweeps Derek upstairs into a bedroom that is clearly his and Lydia’s. 

“We need to trade clothes,” He explains, “My scent will hide yours, and I can use your scent to lead Deucalion on a chase while we get you out of here.”

They swap out, though Jackson is a bit bigger than Derek, so his clothes hang loosely on him while the human’s seem almost uncomfortably tight. They march back downstairs, finding the entire family waiting outside by their vehicles, and the alpha and Stiles are in a fierce argument. 

“-solutely not! I won’t separate us!” Stiles protests.

John towers over his son. “Deucalion _knows_ that, which is why we have to do it.” 

“Stiles,” Scott interrupts, laying a hand on his step brother's shoulder, “Isaac and I will take care of him, I promise, but there’s no way Deucalion will fall for the scent gambit unless you’re with us.” 

Derek nods to him, going over and pulling him into a tight embrace. “They’re right. We’ll be okay, honestly. I still need to figure something out about my family, though.” 

“Paige and Erica will vouch for you. Call your parents, let them know you’re staying the night with them, then go home and pack a bag. Scott and Isaac will take you away after that.” He says. “This ends _tonight.”_ The second part of the statement seems more directed to his father, who nods. 

“I should have finished Deucalion off then and there, and I’m sorry that I didn’t.” He replies, shame coloring his voice. “So much needless suffering.” 

To the west, the last rays of twilight are dying away, and a sliver of a grinning crescent moon shimmers in the purple sky. Derek steps forward, claiming Stiles’ lips fiercely, sliding his tongue between his teeth and exchanging everything he can. When they break apart, he leans their foreheads against one another. 

“I love you, and I will be okay.” 

“After that, you’d better.” He chuckles huskily.

**+**

Getting Erica and Paige to agree to cover for him is easier than expected. Derek surprises himself by how easily the lies flow from his lips about wanting a romantic night with Stiles and needing an alibi. When he gets home, it’s to the scene of his entire family gathered in the living room, not doing anything in particular, but simply sharing space. 

They accept his excuse of a sleepover with the girls without even the slightest amount of suspicion, and when he packs his bag with a change of clothes and his toiletries, he sighs, wondering just when he became so good at keeping secrets. Derek pauses at the door on his way out, smiling at all of them as he says goodbye for what he fears may be the last time, and he thanks God that the Hales have no clue what’s actually going on. He steps out onto the porch and barely holds in a sob, wiping furiously at his teary eyes as he marches to the car where Scott and Isaac wait. 

“You did the right thing,” Scott says reassuringly, rubbing between his shoulder blades, “They won’t worry, and if Deucalion or Kali come here, they’ll be able to smell that you left. They’re safe, Derek.” 

Derek nods, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Okay. So, where are we going?” 

“What about Satomi’s?” He replies, looking to his mate in the driver’s seat. 

Isaac shakes his head. “First thing she’ll do is call up Gerard Argent. We need to get somewhere that Derek will be difficult to find.” 

“San Francisco.” The human says, suddenly realizing the perfect answer. “There’s eight million people in the Bay Area, Deucalion wouldn’t have a shot in Hell at finding us.” 

“There’s a little problem there, Der. You know, the hunters are literally _headquartered_ there and all.” He snarks. 

“Exactly. He knows that we wouldn’t want to go there, and he knows that anything he does will catch their attention. It’s the perfect place to hide.” He reasons. 

The two wolves pause for a moment, before they nod. It really does seem to be their best option. The car suddenly swerves, turning around seamlessly and gunning its way north. In the backseat, Derek sighs, and sends a quick text to Stiles informing him of their destination, but receives no response.

**+**

The hotel in San Francisco is opulent, and their suite offers a stunning view of the whole Bay. Derek leans heavily against the railing of their spacious balcony, looking out over the city lights and their glittery reflections on the choppy waters surrounding the peninsula. Inside, Scott and Isaac are asleep, their limbs tangled together and holding each other close, and he smiles softly at the sight of it. They’re clearly every bit as in love with each other as he and Stiles are. 

Suddenly, his phone begins blaring the generic ringtone with an unknown number on the caller ID, and Derek frantically swipes it open to answer. “Hello? John, Melissa, is that you?” 

_‘Guess again, little one.’_ There’s no mistaking that posh voice. 

“How did you get this number?” He whispers, terror curling in his gut like nausea. 

_‘Beacon Hills High School really ought to lock up their records better, it was much too easy for Kali to find your file. But enough of the how, I’ve got news, Mr. Hale.’_

“What?!” Derek seethes. “What is it?!”

 _‘I know where you are,’_ Deucalion sing-songs, _‘I’d have called you from your beloved’s phone, but I’m afraid it got smashed up in the confusion, you know how these things go. So, here’s the deal. I’m going to text you an address in the Hunter’s Point neighborhood, and you’re going to come to it, or Stiles goes back to Beacon Hills in more pieces than you can count.’_

“You’re lying.” He frantically replies. “You don’t have him.” 

_‘Maybe, but if I’m not, and you_ don’t _show, it’s your boyfriend’s blood on your hands. Here’s a hint, dear boy– call his phone and see if I’m lying.’_

The line goes dead. With his heart pounding frantically, Derek dials up Stiles’ cellphone, only for that same madly beating heart to stop and plummet into his stomach when he goes directly to voicemail. Only a second later, the address appears in his text messages, and he knows what he has to do.

A world without Stiles is a world dimmer. The idea of living for the rest of his life knowing that he died waiting for him to come and save him makes him want to be sick. He’s just a human, one in eight billion and easily replaceable, but Stiles is vital, essential, something wondrous and truly special. His lean form being ripped to pieces, his beautiful golden eyes going cold and cloudy in death, it’s anathema to Derek. 

He makes his way from the balcony into the suite’s sitting area, and grabs a fistful of cash from Scott’s wallet, along a piece of stationary from the desk, putting pen to paper with a shaking hand and tears brimming in his eyes. 

_Stiles,_

_If you’re receiving this letter, it means that you made it away from Deucalion. It means that my death meant something, because you survived this. Please don’t be mad at Scott and Isaac, they couldn’t have known that I’d do this. Tell them thank you._

_Don’t try to avenge me. Don’t bring the hunters into this. Let Deucalion and Kali go, and find someone who can love you with just as much heart as I love you, and live a long, happy life. This world is a dull, bleak place, but people like you make it worthwhile. You shouldn’t spend the rest of your days putting yourself at risk just to get back at them. Make it all mean something._

_I love you, and I’m sorry. Yours_ _always , _

_D S H_

He puts the letter in a plain envelope, scrawls _Stiles_ across the back in his nicest cursive, and seals it shut. He seals his heart in there with it.

**+**

It’s still early enough in the night that taxis are plentiful, and the driver doesn’t blink twice when Derek offers him three hundred bucks to take every shortcut and drive ten miles over the limit to a very seedy part of the city. He just deposits him outside of an abandoned drydock at the waterfront and drives off, leaving him to his fate. Derek swallows thickly, and marches into what awaits. 

Inside, it is dark and dank. The only lighting are the long shafts of the orange street lights outside that drift through the broken old windows along the side. Steeling himself, Derek calls out. “I know you can hear me.” 

“Quite right, I can.” Deucalion’s accent purrs from just behind him. 

“Where is he?” 

“I wouldn’t know, probably back in Beacon Hills following Kali on a wild goose chase through the forest.”

The relief that floods Derek’s body is heady. He nearly falls to his knees with it, euphoria singing through his veins and eliminating any fear. Stiles is safe, his family is safe. There will only be one death tonight, and he’s stunningly alright with it being his. 

The wolf doesn’t seem to notice his reaction, instead pacing around the front to lock his one good eye with Derek’s two. “You don’t seem particularly upset that you were right about it all being a ruse.” 

“I’m not not.” He sighs.

“Hmm. Odd, you actually mean it. Do you think he’ll come after us when it’s done?” He asks, so cavalier he might have been asking about the weekend or the weather. 

Derek shakes his head. “I told him not to in my letter. He’ll listen to me.” 

“Oh, how touching, a goodbye letter. All for naught, I’m afraid. A wolf who loses their mate is a wolf maddened, you see. John and Melissa both remarrying after the loss of their mates is quite the rarity indeed. Stiles will come for us, make no mistake, and we’ll be ready when he does.” 

“Then they’ll all come for you.” He retorts, desperately trying to embolden himself for what he knows is coming. “They’ll tear you to pieces.” 

“Or Kali and I will pick them off, one by one, and I’ll claim Beacon Hills for my own.” Deucalion retorts. “Perhaps I’ll pay your family a visit when I do. You _do_ have sisters, after all, or that sweet cousin of yours.” 

The human’s fists ball up tight as protective rage wells up like a waking dragon inside his chest. “When you’re done with me, you’d better run far and fast.” He seethes. 

The marred face opposite him smiles widely, before suddenly his fist is flashing out lightning quick, and Derek goes flying across the room, slamming into the cold concrete floor and getting the wind knocked out of him. As he lays on the concrete desperately gasping for air, Deucalion marches over with an indolence to his stride, his claws drawn and eyes glowing.

Even now, staring into the feral eyes before him, Derek can’t summon it within himself to regret the long chain of events that brought him to Beacon Hills. _It’s good,_ he reasons, _that it’s me and not him. Better this way._

With long claws and longer fangs, the alpha stalks forward, sure in his victory. 

_I’m sorry, Stiles._

The first slice of those claws against his skin is so quickly there and gone that he doesn’t register it, even when he hears the blood pattering wetly on the ground. Deucalion hauls him up with a single hand, and hurls Derek once more, this time into a rusted old I-beam. He screams as he feels his ribs break by the force of it, and lands with a heavy thud. 

“It’s nothing personal, you know,” Deucalion says, stunningly calm for the violence he’s inflicted, “But you just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

He leans against the beam he was just hurled into, only for the alpha to plant one foot on Derek’s femur and step down, and the deepest, most unnatural _crack_ he’s ever heard echoes through his body, while it suddenly feels as though his entire leg, no, the entire right side of his body is on fire. 

The noise that leaves his body in response to this agony isn’t human, a raw roar that rattles his broken ribcage and sends flecks of blood flying out of Derek’s mouth, all the while Deucalion flashes those damned claws once again, raking them across Derek’s chest and shredding his shirt. When he looks down, his entire front is soaked in blood, glistening black in the dim light. That’s his last conscious sight.

**+**

When Derek returns to his body, it’s not all at once. He can hear the most ferocious roaring and snarling he’s ever heard in the background, and every part of him is in agony. There’s frantic chatter around him, but he can only process pieces of it.

“-need that infusion line, Lydia!” 

“He’s going into-” 

_“Please, baby, please…”_

He fades in and out, usually hearing what he eventually realizes is Melissa barking orders to fashion a splint, or to hand her a suturing kit. Eventually, with more effort than he’s ever expended in his life, he manages to force his eyes open. Directly over him, Stiles is absolutely _drenched_ in Derek’s blood, but the teary smile that cracks across his face when Derek’s eyes finally open is as bright and beautiful as the sun. 

_“Hey,_ welcome back.” The werewolf breathes, sounding like it’s everything in him not to cry. 

Swallowing a bitter mouthful of his own blood, Derek attempts to force out something resembling words. “Sti- Sti- _Stiles.”_ He gasps, each breath causing him agony. 

“Stiles, it _needs_ to happen now.” Melissa barks. 

“Not without his say-so!” He snaps back, before turning back to him. “Der, I’m _so_ sorry, but… the only way we have a chance is to…” He cuts off, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. 

Derek frantically nods. “Yes,” He sighs, “Want… you… werewolf…”

The doctor’s eyes go hard as she snaps her head up. “John! Now!” 

In an instant, the alpha of the Stilinski pack is there, his eyes glowing red in the darkness. He cradles Derek’s wrist in his hand, drawing it up to his mouth, where two sets of pointed canines glint bone white in the dim lighting. “I’m sorry, son.” He says, and then bites down, deep enough to turn him. 

Instantly, Derek blacks out again. 

**+**

When next he awakens, it is in the backseat of a car that is tearing its way down the road. Derek’s head is cradled in Stiles’ lap, while his broken leg juts along the length of the seat, still held in place by a splint. He feels even worse than he did before, grossly overheated and deeply nauseous atop of the existing agony. He vaguely registers the irritation of an IV line that dumps blood into his veins and the bag of blood that hangs from the small hook usually reserved for outfits that’s located next to what Uncle Peter affectionately referred to as the _Oh, Shit Handle._

As soon as his eyes flutter open, the nausea becomes overwhelming, and he cannot even attempt to hold back the wave of vomit that surges up, but Stiles is there with a cooler that Derek believes held the bags of blood Melissa transfused him with, and he rubs a gentle circle between Derek’s shoulder blades as he urges him to just let it out. Again, he blacks out, and the cycle continues, each time he awakens he immediately vomits, and he’s barely able to keep conscious for more than a few seconds outside of his puking. 

Eventually, they make their way back to the Stilinski house, and Derek is put in an unfamiliar room on an uncomfortable bed, but he’s able to keep awake long enough to catch a snippet of conversation. 

“Mel, you gotta give him something, he’s in agony and the fever is spiking again.” Stiles pleads. 

His stepmother’s voice is strictly professional as she answers. “Stiles, we are in completely uncharted territory. I have never even heard of an attempt to turn someone so badly injured. I’m anxious about giving him saline and blood transfusions, forget any sort of medication. Derek is _this close_ to complete systemic failure, and even the slightest unbalancing of his system will almost certainly kill him.” 

“We can’t just let him suffer this, it’s not… it’s not right!” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. The internal damage is… mortifying, and I’m still afraid for his femoral artery. Stiles, I know what he means to you, I promise you, I do, but you need to be prepared. The odds that Derek makes it out of this… they’re almost zero.” 

“He’s strong,” Stiles whispers, “Stronger than anyone else who could go through this. He’ll make it.” 

If Melissa responds, Derek doesn’t hear, as he fades back into the darkness. Each time he awakens, he wishes nothing more than for darkness, for relief from the fire that is burning within his body. It’s constant agony. He can barely breathe, barely think, barely process anything besides the pain of his broken bones and the unrelenting heat of the fever. He feels like he’s dying, and more than once, he wishes he would. 

In addition to that, every time he comes back, someone new is there, be it John, or Scott and Isaac, Jackson, or even Lydia. _That_ particular discussion is an intense one. 

“You need to sleep, Stiles.” She says. “It’s been more than a day, and though it’s not exactly true, you’re only human.” 

That long? He’s only able to keep conscious for a few moments, but the space between them feels like it lasts only seconds. He knows _some_ time has passed, since each time he wakes, he’s in a different set of clothes and the sheets have been changed, much to Derek’s chagrin. He may be in a fugue state, but he’s lucid enough to understand what would require his clothes and sheets to be changed multiple times in a day.

“I’ll sleep when he’s awake.” Stiles snaps. 

_No,_ Derek wants to protest, _get some sleep. I need you to rest._ God, the fever is terrible, though the pain in his leg and ribs has subsided immensely. 

“I’ll stay with him.” Lydia promises. “By now, he’s probably lucid enough to understand us. I was by this point.” 

“You weren’t as hurt as he was.” 

“I was dying, Stiles, and I had to go through this without anything to keep me down, just like him. Even Isaac was kept sedated through it, he needs someone who understands. Let me keep the watch, you have to sleep.” 

There’s a long, pregnant pause, but Derek can hear the sound of Stiles stepping out of the room, a quietly murmured _“Thank you,”_ trailing after him. 

Lydia, meanwhile, settles into the chair at his bedside, taking his hand in hers. For the first time, a werewolf’s touch feels cool to him, but that’s probably because of the fever that he’s pretty sure he heard John utter was hovering somewhere near 105 or 106, just a degree or two below the death zone. 

“Derek?” She asks, her voice softer and gentler than ever he’s heard it before. “Der, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand.” It takes everything in him to just force his fingers to twitch, but she evidently gets the message, as she continues speaking. “I know how much it hurts, I promise. I was only a kid, but the transformation is the strongest memory I have.” 

She pauses for a moment, but continues. “You want it to end, I know. More than anything, you just want it to stop, but the only way out is _through._ You have to want it, Derek. You have to accept the wolf, to want it, to want the moon more than anything you’ve ever wanted before, even Stiles. You need to want this more than you want it to end.” 

He groans, desperately trying to force out the words that he understands, but he cannot. Seconds later, the effort extended in that groan sends another roiling wave of nausea through him, and Derek is barely able to turn his head to the side opposite his companion before he’s spewing up bile across the bedspread. 

“It’s okay,” Lydia says, threading her fingers through his hair as he vomits. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” 

He isn’t so sure about that, but he tries to focus on the moon, on the will to live as a werewolf, and then he is drifting off once more. 

**+**

The next time Derek feels awareness come back to him, it’s different. There is no pain, no fever, nothing. Next to him, as loud as if it were in his ears, he picks up a low thudding. _Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub._ He’d recognize a heartbeat anywhere. There’s the additional sound of breathing, even and gentle. As his awareness expands, he can hear other heartbeats, the sound of the television in the living room playing a hockey game, with the Capitals leading San Jose by two. 

There’s two companion sounds of electrical buzzing and the rush of water through the house’s wires and pipes, and outside, birdsong, the rustling of the trees, sounds that he has no name for but that are undeniably part of nature’s chorus. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and the scent that fills his nose is better than any other he’s smelled before, sugar, lilac, an element that’s almost chemical, and a deep, earthy scent like the forest after a rainstorm. 

At his bedside, fabric rustles and tired joints creak and pop as Stiles moves from a position he’s been keeping for who knows how long. “Der? Babe, can you hear me?” He reaches out, taking Derek’s hand in his own, and for the first time, it feels perfectly normal to him. Of course it would, they’re the same temperature now. That’s when it hits him. He made it. He survived the transformation. He’s a _werewolf._ Inhaling once again, Derek braces himself, and then lets his eyes fly open. 

Overhead, the ceiling is painted plain white, but his new eyes see so much more than that. He can take in the most minute of details, from uneven layering on the paint to microscopic cracks and flaws in the stucco that the human eye just couldn’t register. The ceiling light, whose buzzing he can also hear, casts an entire visible rainbow of light, though there’s more to it than any Derek has seen before, with two extra colors framing the usual seven. Finally, with care deliberation, he turns his head and faces Stiles.

He’s never looked more beautiful to Derek. His weak human eyes hadn’t even begun to allow him to truly take in the sight of the man before him. These new eyes, these _powerful_ eyes, they offer up every detail and he is left stunned by Stiles, as stunned as the first day they met, what feels like so long ago. 

“Derek?” He asks, and his voice is like music, each and every inflection and harmonization from his individual vocal chords playing through Derek’s ears like a symphony. He feels a rush of possessive desire go through his body, and he lets instinct guide him up and out the bed. Even considering the action is enough to make it happen, and before he knows it, he’s pulled Stiles into a tight embrace, burying his face into the column of his neck. 

“Hey,” Stiles chuckles, wrapping his arms around Derek. “Welcome back.” 

After a further moment of scenting, he leans back from his mate’s arms, and smiles at him. Very deliberately, he reaches out to lay his hand against Stiles’ cheek. “I love you.” He says, and leans in to kiss him. 

As soon as their lips meet, he can smell as Stiles’ scent blossoms into desire, and it fuels his own. Luckily for their senses of decency, however, there’s an amused sound as someone clears their throat from behind. Breaking them apart, Derek’s eyes snap to the doorway, and he takes in the sight of the pack– _his_ pack, all crowding around wearing the same expressions of welcome. 

The one who cleared their throat turns out to be Scott, the closest to the two of them, and he chuckles as he comes over to envelope Derek in a tight hug, his own scent of chocolate, spice, and the same earthy aroma that seems to surround all the werewolves coming on strong. 

“Welcome to the pack, bro.” He says. “Lycanthropy is a good look on you.” 

“Look?” He asks, now confused. 

Stiles chuckles lightly. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He leads them out of the guest room where Derek was turned and into Lydia and Jackson’s room, positioning the two of them in front of an enormous picture mirror. 

The reflection is radically different than the one that he was used to. Whenever he’d seen images of him and Stiles together, Derek had always thought that they looked so different, even if they were roughly the same height. Stiles’ shoulders were broader, his facial features more cut, and that glow that emanated from behind skin had lent him a perpetually sun-kissed look. Now, however, the two of them look like they were made for one another, two pieces of the same puzzle. 

The last little bit of baby fat on his cheeks has evaporated away in the fires of the turning fever, and the muscles of his chest and arms seem to have expanded just a bit. Most obvious, though, is that he has the same backlit glow as the rest of the pack. Stiles’ eyes flash gold in the mirror, and Derek’s own do so reflexively. He grins widely, relishing that they finally stand on equal footing. 

**+**

There are questions to be answered, and explanations to be given. Kali had managed to smash Stiles’ phone in a dustup between the two of them when they were hunting her down, allowing Deucalion to claim that he had captured him. Both he and his mate were dead, and Melissa had used her considerable medical knowledge and the dextrous claws of her wolf to extract the location where Deucalion had been keeping his pack after a frantic phone call from Scott had told them that Derek had vanished. 

They had arrived with only moments to spare, and Derek had nearly died at least a dozen times throughout that long first night of his three day transformation, which itself left questions. The Stilinskis had had no choice but to share the truth with the Hales, who were anxiously awaiting permission to come and see Derek. 

“New wolves can be… volatile.” John says. “We need to get you a bit more steady before you can see them, and I’m afraid you’ll have to finish the school year online.”

“The official story is that you’ve been in a bad car wreck and will be needing long-term physical therapy.” Melissa interjects. “You should see your social media pages, there must be a thousand well wishes.” She adds with some degree of mirth. 

The alpha, now Derek’s alpha as well, nods. “When it gets to September, we’ll see how you’re progressing, and hopefully you’ll be able to attend in person in the fall.” 

Derek nods. “Okay. So, what happens now?” 

“Well, it’s plenty of time to the full moon, so we’ll work on controlling your shift and focusing on your anchor, but, for now, I imagine you’re quite hungry.” He responds. 

“Yeah, I was starving after I turned.” Isaac comments. “You’ve had a lot more taken out of you, too. We cooked a spread, don’t worry.” 

“Who’s this _we?”_ Lydia grouses. “Last time I checked, you were too busy cursing at the hockey game to cook.” 

As the bickering of two packmates fills the air, Derek allows himself a moment to just take it all in. He’s never felt more right than he does in this moment, and when he laces his fingers through Stiles’, the wolf within howls in joy. 

And maybe he lets out a little howl of his own, just because he can now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, thank you guys so much for reading this monstrosity. Drop a review, bookmark it and spam the tags there, virtually stone me for contributing to the Twilight Renaissance, whatever you gotta do. Updates to _Healer's Winter_ are forthcoming, I promise.


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